


The Cupboard Game

by mollykittykat



Category: TMNT - Fandom, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), tmnt 2012 - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Father-Son Relationship, Injury, Light Angst, Turtle Tots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollykittykat/pseuds/mollykittykat
Summary: AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. Mostly family fluff with action/adventure and a teeny hint of angst.





	1. Chapter 1

There was a knock on the door, signaling the next round of the cupboard game.  
There was barely a half second’s pause before the four children sprang into action, covering their tracks and scampering in separate directions.

Rule one: no leaving out toys or coloring books.  
The objects didn’t have to go where they belonged, they only needed to be out of sight; tucked under a couch or shoved between a mattress… whatever got rid of it quicker.

Rule two: remain absolutely silent.  
This was the second most important rule of the game. Speed and efficiency got you points, but if you tripped trying to get to you hiding spot or couldn’t sit still once you were hidden your chances of winning were practically null. Michelangelo struggled with this rule for a long time, and even now he had some problems refraining from readjusting his position after settling in the cramped storage chest.

Rule three: you have to wait for the signal before you can leave you hiding spot.  
The signal wasn’t the stranger’s goodbye or the footsteps disappearing down the hall, it was the sound of their father rapping on the wall with his knuckles when he was certain the coast was clear.  
Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits.  
Then they all climbed out and abided by rule four: no talking for five minutes.  
They were permitted to read and draw, but no spoken words were allowed. Then, when time was up, Splinter decided on who won the cupboard game and the winner would get a piece of candy.

Half the time Leonardo won. Donnie was a close second, as he was very dutiful about putting his things away and always seemed to know the quickest most efficient route to the nearest hiding spot. Michelangelo, as aforementioned, had problems with fidgeting, but he was small and quick, good at fitting into small corners. Raphael was a tad bit more manic, his determination to outdo his siblings causing him behave recklessly every time the game started.  
Competition had always been a difficult subject for Raphael, as there was practically no grey area separating desperation from indifference. There was one instance when… after a long winning streak from Leonardo… the hotheaded child actually decided that he was no longer going to play the game. There was the knock at the door, and as his brothers began to scatter Raph stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, staring at his father in a challenging manner.

Splinter motioned for him to hide, and Raphael stomped his foot and screamed “no!” like only a four year old could.

This immediately proved to be a terrible, _terrible_ decision.  
One hand was snapped violently over Raph’s mouth, remaining there even as the child bit at his father’s palm. Splinter’s other hand painfully gripped a pressure point in the defiant tot’s neck as he dragged him the final distance to the kitchen area and shut the tantruming child away in the cupboard.

The cupboard was never meant to be a place of punishment. Leonardo’s earliest memory was of him and his four siblings snug beneath blankets, dozing away in the comforting darkness of the space lit alone by the gentle red glow of the light on the baby monitor.  
That monitor served as Splinter’s only way of knowing if any of them started crying, because otherwise the cupboard was locked tight and _completely_ soundproofed. It was technically their first hiding spot before any of them could properly comprehend the rules of the cupboard game. Now it served as sort of a “tantrum room.” If you couldn’t keep your voice down you’d go into the cupboard, which would then be locked for a set amount of time.  
Raphael of course slammed his tiny legs against the cabinet doors, but the light thumping and nearly inaudible screaming was soon drowned out by a radio Splinter turned on before answering the door.

It was only a package. The person who had delivered it was long gone, leaving the cardboard box filled with preschool-appropriate reading material on the stoop of the dingy apartment room.  
Splinter brought the package in, ignoring rule three of the game in order to drag Raphael out of the cupboard and scold him.  
“When I tell you to _hide_ , you _hide_!” he reprimanded, face flushed with anger as he clasped the tiny turtle by the shoulders and shook him “do you understand me?!”  
Raphael tried to answer but he was crying too hard to form words, struggling to keep the volume of his own sobs down in order to avoid further punishment.  
“I said do you understand me!?”  
“It… it _hurts_ Papa…”

Splinter suddenly stopped. Coming to his senses he realized the terrified expression on the four year old’s face. Raphael had acted like a child, but he _was_ a child, a child who had not yet been told the severity of the situation. Even if the matter had been fully explained, however, it was no excuse for the bruises Splinter found that his clenched hands were leaving on the little creature’s shoulders.  
At once the fear and the anger was gone, and in it’s place was a suffocating sense of guilt.  
Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo crept out of their hiding spots, drawn out by the commotion, and were greeted by the sight of Raphael wrapped inside a firm embrace, their father on his knees on the tile floor sobbing out apologies.

Rule 5 of The Cupboard Game: There is no opting out of the cupboard game.    
This was the most single most important rule.

 

 

Soon after the incident Splinter sat his sons down for tea and a family meeting. There, he explained that if anyone found out there were four talking turtles living in the apartment, there was a chance someone would try and take them away. As far as he knew, the four of them were the only turtles in the world that could walk and grow and interact like humans, and such things often made people afraid.  
That was why they had to play the game. That was why none of them were allowed to leave the apartment.  
Leonardo brought up the issue that their home was so small, with barely enough room for so much as a game of tag, and Splinter somberly agreed. He promised that one day he’d find a bigger home for them, although he failed to mention that such a thing was easier said than done when one has recently started their life over, working a janitorial job with not a penny to their name, which too had been changed over the course of the move. Of course Michelangelo, unaware of this, never refrained from using his crayons to draw big castles and bright green backyards, basing his idea of what their future home should look like off the cartoons that kept him quiet and satiated.

In the following weeks Splinter seemed to come home a good deal later than normal, acting far sleepier than before, often sore and suffering from bad headaches, falling short on household duties and phonics lessons much to his visible shame.  
“I can only get us a bigger home if I work harder” was the answer Donatello received after no small amount of prying, though the explanation made the lispy little knowitall fairly indignant. Eight hours of sleep and no more than forty hours of work per week was the healthy statistic, he declared, and here Splinter was pushing seventy hours per week while getting between five and six hours of sleep every night.  
Unfortunately, the preschooler’s wordy little lecture won him nothing more than a pat on the head and a promise that it wouldn’t last forever.

 

The knock came one more time, everyone and everything safely hidden away by the time Splinter gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open.  
Donnie was tucked in the cardboard box under the bed, Leo was buried in shredded newspaper in the wooden chest next to the couch, Raph was behind an ironing board in the coat closet, and Michelangelo was hugging a teddybear behind a wooden panel on the bottom book shelf, when they all overheard a strange high-pitched raspy voice speaking out in a sharp informal manner.

“Aye! if it isn’t ‘The Splinter!’ I was afraid I got the wrong address for a second there!”

“…. Daiki. Or ‘Mister Takada’ if you’re trying to sell me something.”  
Leonardo noted the tone with which his father correct the stranger; the inflectionless mutter of annoyance he usually used when the old lady downstairs reminded him about the rent.  
“Look, I know what you want. I told you we’ll talk about it another time.”

“Oh don’t pull that stunt again Splints.”  
The door was jammed by the stranger’s foot, and all of a sudden there were footsteps making their way into the living area. The hiding children tensed, unnerved by this turn of events. Splinter didn’t let _anyone_ into the apartment, not _ever_ , and it was clear by the tone of their father’s voice that he was as uncomfortable as they were.  
“What do you think you’re-”  
“Getting your attention”

Despite knowing it would kill his chances at winning, Michelangelo gently shifted aside the wooden panel keeping him hidden, hoping to catch a much-needed peek of the ensuing conversation. He couldn’t see his father through the slit but he could see a stranger with big sunken eyes and the structure of a scarecrow, brightly colored tattoos all down his arm and along his face.  
Immediately he thought of some of the super villains in the Wingnut and Screwloose cartoons and hugged his teddybear a little tighter.

“Ha! Man, this place looks like a real hunk of garbage, and what’s with all the thrift shop furniture?”  
The intruder laughed, giving the couch a light kick of disdain “I guess this is what happens when you work in a profession you’re not made for, eh?”

“My job at Channel Six suites me just fine, Nezumi” Splinter returned, “and you need to leave.”  
He attempted to subtly herd the invader back to the doorway, but the goon saw through the attempt and sidestepped him.

“Yeah, on your knees scrubbing bathroom stalls. Sources say you just got yourself a part-time job loading crates down at the docks too. You’re obviously in need of funds, why didn’t you give me a call?”  
  
Nezumi’s insult followed up by the revelation that he’d been snooping left Splinter at a momentary loss for words.  
“The last time we worked together was three years ago” he eventually answered when he found his voice again, hands clenched at his sides “and I put our partnership to an end at the first opportunity. You know perfectly well that I have no intention of going back.”

“You beat Visioso’s best guy in thirty seconds flat! How am I supposed to let a powerhouse like that just walk away?”

“ **Listen** ”  
There was a light thump. Michelangelo could see Splinter’s hand grip the intruder’s shirt collar, loosely pinning him against the wall. Mikey instinctively flinched, then pressed his ear to the wooden panel, straining to make out his father’s nearly inaudible whisper

“You know what happened all those years ago? You caught me at a moment of desperation. I don’t like fighting for the sake of entertainment, especially dangerous and illegal entertainment, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice, so stop. Haunting. Me.”

Mikey didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, not because he couldn’t hear but because he simply hadn’t Donnie to explain the sentence’s meaning to him in layman’s terms. To him it just seemed like a jumble of standalone words, mashed into sentences that had no coherency. What he _did_ know, however, was that his dad sounded frustrated, and Nezumi sounded like he didn’t care.

“They’ve raised a fifty thousand dollar purse for the final round” the intruder continued, speaking loudly and excitedly as he proceeded to ignore everything Splinter had just said “Some of the baddest of the bad are going to be pitted against each other, and I know you can beat every last one of them. Daiki, we can’t lose!”  
This time there was no holding back. A firm hand gripped the gangly stranger by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to move toward the doorway

“Thank you for the visit.”

“You- you can’t be content living like this!”  
Nezumi futilely struggled against the iron grip like a fish writhing on a hook  
“There’s got to be something that can get you fighting again!”

“Goodbye”

From his corner of the closet Raphael had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing as he heard Nezumi thrown out into the hallway, stumbling into the apposing wall by the force of the shove, Splinter evicting him with minimal effort. Mikey found it funny too, so much so that he pushed the panel hiding him aside just a bit further to get a better glimpse of the action. The hideous sunken eyes of the man in the hallway glared daggers at Splinter, flicked around in thoughtful frustration, and then suddenly landed upon Michelangelo’s big blue orbs peering out of the gap in the bookshelf.  
The youngest turtle’s heart leapt as he met the stranger’s dark gaze, a newfound look of shock and confusion overtaking Nezumi’s face before suddenly their silent exchange was cut off by the shut door, which Splinter immediately locked.

Michelangelo scampered to push the panel back in place, his heart still stuck in his throat, stomach twisting as he thought about the ugly man and his startled expression.  
He didn’t care if Splinter knew that he had broken the rules of the game. As bad as his father’s scoldings were he was now certain that someone saw him. That meant someone was going to come and take him away, and he would never get to see his dad or his brothers ever again.  
That thought stayed with him, and the more he pondered it the harder he cried, small muffled sobs escaping him as he played out the worst possible outcome in his mind, every detail exaggerated and emphasized by his overactive imagination.

Soft heart shattered by the prospect of separation he stayed where he was even after Splinter knocked on the wall.  
Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits.  
The final five minutes passed, then ten after that, but Michelangelo didn’t move.

Finally there was a knock on the wood panel of the book shelf, the hands of his elder brother shoving back the barrier before Mikey could so much as answer. Raph was wearing a smug smile, cheeks puffed up with an arcor strawberry cream candy, arms crossed over his chest as if he’d just defeated the king of the world.  
“I won! I won I won! Look!…”  
Raphael stuck out his tongue, the little hard candy balanced upon it, but the taunting gesture didn’t last long when Raphael noticed that Michelangelo was still crying, face pressed into his tear-soaked teddybear, shoulders heaving with every panicked sob.

Confused, then regretful, the hotheaded tot removed the partially eaten treat from his tongue and held it out to his little brother.  
“Hereyago. Shush okay? you’ can have it if you wannit…”  
But it was no use. Michelangelo was unresponsive to the offer, and if anything his sobs had only gotten louder since his brother invaded his hiding place.  
Knowing that the refusal of food was something serious, especially for a turtle like Michelangelo, Raphael backed off and raced to fetch his father, getting his attention with a few tugs on his pant leg. Now hearing Mikey’s sobs himself Splinter removed himself from dinner duty, kneeling down by the bookshelf to examine the situation while Leonardo hopped up on the kitchen counter to keep the ramen noodles stirred, Donatello rattling off the instructions on the cardboard box.

“Michelangelo?”  
Mikey looked up from his stuffed animal just in time to see familiar hands reach into the bookshelf, pulling him into the light of the living area.  
“Hush my son, it’s alright”   
The deep paternal voice was a million miles off from the sharp angry tone with which Splinter had addressed the stranger. Finding something to tether his emotions to Mikey abandoned his teddybear altogether and gripped the fabric of Splinter’s buttondown shirt like his life depended on it. He buried his face in his father’s chest, tears giving way to light hiccups as strong reassuring palms coarse with callouses rubbed up and down the turtle’s shell.

Splinter picked Mikey up and moved to the couch, cradling the sobbing four year old in his lap as he sat down.  
“What’s wrong?”  
Michelangelo found it a struggle to answer. Even though he knew what he wanted to say he was afraid to say it. He wasn’t going to just get in trouble, he was going to make everyone angry and scared, but deep down he knew it was better than them not knowing what had happened all, especially if this was going to put him and his brothers in danger.  
“…He looked a’me!”  
“Who?”  
“The.. the… Th’man!”  
Mikey hiccuped as his gaze moved to the door, breathing heavily as he was caught in the throes of a fresh crying fit.  
“I know I- I was s’posed to stay h-hidden but- *hic*… I- I… wanted t’see wh- who- what was… an’ I- *hic*…I… I peeked”

It took Splinter a few seconds to understand just what his son was going on about. Realizing what had happened he looked concerned himself, gaze moving toward the bookshelf briefly before returning to Michelangelo.  
“And you’re certain he saw you?”  
“I… I think so. He- *hic* he l-looked over at me th-then his face got all weird, then y’closed the door an… an… an…”  
Unable to finish his thought Michelangelo buried his face back into his fathers chest, a long sorrowful exhale wetting his parent’s work shirt with snot. Splinter gently rocked back in forth, working to soothe the distraught tot as his gaze coasted back and forth between the bookshelf and the door, a sense of dread building up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that someone had caught sight of one of the turtles. Especially someone like Nezumi.

“Well, he is more likely to think he was imagining things than assume that a talking turtle lives in my apartment” Splinter coaxed, working to reassure himself as well as the kid he clutched in his arms.  
“Is someone gonna take me away?”  
“I don’t think so”  
Splinter smiled pityingly at his son, picking him up and repositioning him on his lap so that he could look him in he eyes.  
“Now, I am disappointed that you let yourself be seen like that. You know that it would have been safer if you had stayed hidden… but I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything. After all, you’re safe here.”

“Yeah!” Raphael suddenly interjected, climbing up onto the couch next to his father, clasping an egg timer from the kitchen in his large green hands “An’ if he does try somethin’, Papa’s gonna kick him in the mouth so hard, that Noobzumi dork’s gonna poop teeth!”  
Despite the tears still running down his cheeks Michelangelo began to dissolve into giggles, the mere mention of the word ‘poop’ striking him as the epitome of comedy. Splinter, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly violent statement coming out of his four year old son.   
Seeing he’d accomplished the job of cheering up his younger sibling while recognizing the threat of another oncoming scolding, Raphael quickly twisted the knob of the egg timer, forcing it to ring ten seconds early.  
  
“Eggs is done!”  
He tossed the timer onto his father’s lap and scampered back to the kitchen area, where Leonardo and Donatello were struggling to portion the steaming of noodles and the eggs, threatening to accidentally topple the large pots of boiling water in the process.  
“Boys, stop! let me handle that!”  
Splinter immediately put Mikey on the cushion next to him before rising to his feet and hurrying to the stove, leaving the youngest to ponder the conversation while he finished dinner preparations.

Mikey didn’t like that look on Nezumi’s face. In fact he was quite certain he didn’t like Nezumi _at all_ , which was not a feeling he was accustomed to… disliking someone at first glance. However, his father seemed to be confident that this slip-up wouldn’t result in catastrophe.  
Reassured, Mikey wiped the last bit of snot away from his face with his elbow, then slipped down from the couch to retrieve his teddybear.

“It’s okay. ‘Aphie’s right” he soothed, picking up his stuffed animal and cradling it in his arms much like his own father had done with him just a few moment’s ago “Papa’s gonna make sure nothin’ bad’s gonna happen.”  
“Now come on…”   
He looped the tear-soaked teddy around his shoulders, giving it a piggyback ride to the kitchen  
“it’s time for dinner. Not pizza this time, but chick’n ramen’s super good too, so no whining!”


	2. The Cost of Good Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter revisits the past, but on his own terms. The turtles, in the meantime, send texts and eat cheese sticks.

[If sum won coms wat do we do?]

Splinter got the fist text message a mere few minutes after he clocked in, when he was gathering his cleaning supplies and heading off to mop up the coffee spill in the recreation room.

He allowed his sons to send him text messages so long as it was important, although to four year olds “important” easily ranged from ‘I’m feeling lonely’ to ‘the stove was left on’ and everything in between. Though the turtles always forgot to say who was speaking before sending a message, Splinter could usually tell who it was simply by their writing pattern.

This one was from Leonardo. He had an average vocabulary for someone his age, misspelling things and sometimes allowing autocorrect to fill in the wrong word, but that aside he used the phone properly, and was typically clear and concise about his messages.

[Is there a stranger in the apartment?]  
Splinter’s return text was sent immediately. Normally he waited at least a thirty minutes before replying, not wanting to be caught shirking his duties to pour over his phone messages, but after yesterday’s encounter he was fearful that he had been too quick to deem Michelangelo’s slipup inconsequential.

There was an extensive pause, eventually followed by the long slow “typing…” message that lingered for a while. Though this was status quo for a barely literate preschooler Splinter’s heart hardly beat the entire time.

[No]  
[Mike want to no just in cays]  
  
Splinter let out a heavy sigh of relief, then returned with his own text.

[Remember the fire escape on the fifth floor? It leads to an alley where there is a drainage pipe leading into the sewers. If you can’t hide and must run, go there.]

He knew this would strike a familiar chord with his oldest son. They had gone over a similar escape plan when discussing what they should do if a fire should break out in their small dingy apartment, a news story about such an accident striking justified anxiety into the hearts of his four children.

[The sewers are infested with bacteria, won’t we get sick?]  
The next text came two hours later, this one obviously from Donatello. The turtle was very intelligent for his age, sending full sentences with proper grammar and vocabulary words that most parents could only dream of getting from a four year old.  
Splinter finished scrubbing down the sinks, and once they were shiny and clean he took a moment to exchange his supplies in the janitorial closet and reply to the text.

[We won’t have to stay there forever. It’ll just have to do as our hiding spot until we find a new home]

Another two hours and there was a new text. The timing for this one apropos, as Splinter had just settled down for a lunch break.

[I don want to hid in sewer thats dum this were the toylet water goos we shelled not had to hid]  
[Wy cant we moov to a big tenthose like peepol on tv]  
Raphael was clearly less patient in his texts, writing runnon sentences interspersed with nonsense words, the meaning behind his statements sometimes a struggle to understand. In some ways he was similar to his older brother, thought there was a tone to his wording that certainly set him apart from the others.  
It took Splinter a solid minute to realize that “tenthose” was bad spellcheck child speak for “penthouse”

[You mean penthouse? the big glass fancy rooms at the tops of skyscrapers? Penthouses take a lot of money, more than I can make.]

There was a pause. He took a bite of his sandwich as he waited for the child to finish reading the hefty sentence.  
[Even if u werk 198490829 ours?]  
[Even if I work all the hours in the world]

Splinter finished his lunch break and was retrieving the floor buffer and a few fresh rags when another text came in…. though this one was ambiguous whether it was from Leonardo or Raphael.  
[I do not want u to work all the ours in the world]  
Splinter couldn’t help but smile at this one, taking a moment to send back an immediate reply.

[Neither do I]

Four hours passed, the phone remaining silent until Splinter clocked out. Putting on a jacket to shield him from the brisk humid wind he tore into the New York streets toward the location of his next job. The overhead sky was beginning to darken, the air thick with the smell of condensation as the forecasted rainstorm rolled in a day earlier than predicted. Splinter sighed, wondering whether or not he should ask for a ride from one of the acquaintances at the docks rather than risk returning to the apartment on foot.  
His phone buzzed, the arrival of another text pulling him out of his thoughts.

[Papa heanrm forkn sjklj isnuwant abcdefgabc Mikey]  
Even if the turtle hadn’t put his name at the end it would have been obvious who had sent the undecipherable key smashing. Luckily, Splinter often found that messages from his youngest son, though impossible to comprehend, were immensely easy to appease.

[I love you too]

He let out a sigh, contentment and exhaustion fogging together into a single undecipherable emotion as he put the phone back in his pocket and continued his way toward the docks, where heavy crates of imports and exports would be waiting for him.  
It was hard work, but it had an aura of adventure to it and was worth the extra money. This time, however, he knew who would be waiting there. He felt it in his gut; certainty that the moment he was done loading crates Nezumi would bump into him, claim it was a coincidence, then push and prod with his offer once again, and worst of all… Hamato Yoshi was actually beginning to reconsider.

 

The night Splinter got the turtles, for all of the positive changes it had brought to his life, was a long exhausting night of many conflicting thoughts. The idea of calling the police or notifying a neighbor came to mind more times than he’d ever like to admit, the sight of four reptiles the size of infants, acting like infants, initially striking him as wrong… horrific even.  
But they weren’t merely acting like infants, they _were_ infants. With every passing second the genetic mishaps showed themselves to be nothing more than helpless children, who would likely be hurt or even killed if word got out about their existence.  
Not knowing where else to go Yoshi brought them to his apartment. He panicked at every crying fit, he panicked over whether to feed them warm milk or insects from the windowsill, he turned up the television in order to cover up the sound of their fits until the neighbors complained, and then he panicked when the tenants knocked on his door. All night, for many nights, he made the changes necessary to carry on with the secret existence of four infants, soundproofing cupboards and stockpiling supplies. He moved on instinct, an unexpected family in dire need of protection filling his life with a sudden unexpected vigor that he hadn’t felt since his days with Shen and Miwa.  
  
Of course it couldn’t last forever. He could only be absent from his waitering job for so long before he met an ultimatum: earn a living, or leave four squirming infants all alone for eight hours on end.  
He knew he couldn’t choose the latter, it would put his newfound family in a position of terrible neglect even if he dedicated every hour he had apart from work to tending to their needs.  
He needed a miracle, and the universe followed through, though not without it’s price.

It was by sheer luck that one day, when he was walking to the convenience store, he discovered Nezumi being thrashed by gangsters who were demanding some sort of overdue payment. Splinter didn’t know much about the situation, but he did recognize when a lone unarmed man was being threatened by hoard of thugs wielding blunt weapons.  
To this day he still didn’t know whether it was intuition or simple stupidity that inspired him to interfere, but in the end Nezumi got a good glimpse of what he was capable of. As a show of gratitude Splinter was given an offer, an offer that would have him working for only two hours in the dead of night, filling his pockets with more than enough to pay the rent while leaving him full days to take care of his infants sons and ensure they got a decent upbringing.

Underground fights. _Serious_ underground fights settling bloody feuds under the gazes of vicious gamblers. It was illegal and dishonorable and extremely dangerous and yet, so long as he wouldn’t be hurting anyone innocent, Splinter knew he couldn’t refuse.  
After that, his sense of being was constantly jumping back and forth from opposite sides of the spectrum. During the day he was a father, a _good_ father, watching small children slowly learn to talk, teaching him what he could about language and history and how to keep out of sight. However, when he was in the fighting ring, he was a submissive attack dog beating men that were all muscle and meat into unconsciousness while surrounding crowds shrieked and hollered. It reached a point to where even the simplest fights turned into behemothic bet-hedging schemes, Nezumi leeching off of the ‘“street cred” Splinter never wanted to make a name for himself in areas that Splinter wanted nothing to do with.

Those months contained some of the best and worst moments of his life. Overall, however, he couldn’t say he had any regrets. All it took was one memory of the quartet of two year olds falling asleep in his lap while he read about the antics of The Cat in The Hat, and he could contentedly affirm that… despite everything… he had done the right thing.

Would it be the right thing if he went through with it one more time? It was just a couple of nights in the ring, maybe only one night judging by the purse Nezumi had mentioned yesterday. With money like that he would be able move his family to a small place outside the city limits, somewhere far away from the constant prying eyes of strangers where the turtles could run around carefree like boys should...  
…. like they deserved to.

 

When Splinter arrived at his destination he found his suspicions confirmed. There was Nezumi, sitting in a dingy little sports car just off from the docks, windows rolled down a crack to release the smog of a half-smoked cigarette.  
The moment their eyes met the skinny tattooed scarecrow jumped, startled to see that not only had his target arrived, but he was walking directly toward him. There was the sound fumbling as Nezumi let his cigarette drop to the floor and rummaged around the glove compartment, probably in search for some hidden weapon. When Splinter yanked him out of the vehicle by his wrists it became clear Nezumi probably should have dedicated more time to locking his door than locating his switchblade, and before he could so much as blink he was pinned to the concrete, foot on his back, arm twisted until pain forced him to unhand his weapon.  
“Hey hey hey hey!!! Cool it! This trip had nothing to do with you! I’m out here meeting some old friends!” he squealed as Splinter took the switchblade “Coincidence! Pure coincidence! I’m not-“

“How much did you say that purse was?”

Nezumi suddenly stopped, rubbing his sore shoulder as he found himself released from the painful hold. He rose back to his feet, watching his attacker casually toss the swiped blade to himself, a look of calm earnestness on his face.

“You… you’re serious?”  
“I don’t know yet” Splinter muttered, “Tell me how much I’ll win if I take part in this fight you talked about.”

“Th-… thirty grand if you win the final round. Twenty grand if you get second place and-”  
“Fine.”  
Splinter closed the switchblade and pocketed it while giving his answer. Forgetting his swiped weapon, Nezumi took a moment to come to grips with what was happening, a look of idiotic glee on his face when he realized his hopes were confirmed.  
“The Splinter is back in action?”

“‘Mister Takada.’ Or Daiki if you want to be informal.”  
Splinter knew he’d regret accepting that “stage name” the moment it caught on. His old self laid across ocean, lost in the passing years, but making his lifelong nickname into a tacky “extreme warrior” title served to twist the knife rather than help him move on. But of course, Nezumi took the correction as a signal to keep their plans on the down low, and still wearing that stupid smile the scrawny little thug placed a finger against his own lips in a gesture of silence and winked.

Decision made and instincts already telling him this was a terrible idea, Splinter turned away and began heading back toward the loading docks.  
“I’ve got to go. I’m already late.”

“Wait wait wait!”  
Nezumi rushed ahead, blocking Splinter’s path with outstretched arms.  
“Tell me when you get off work! I’ll come by and pick you up!”

Splinter shot him a doubtful glare.

“I’m taking you to dinner!” Nezumi explained “It’s on me. You can ask for all the details you want over some hot grub and some wine. Huh? What do you say?”

Splinter’s glare softened. He would have to skip out on the wine, he had a notoriously low alcohol tolerance, but the idea of a good meal swayed him. That, plus a ride home that would keep him safe from the rain, and he couldn’t find the will to protest.

 

 

[I’ll be home late]  
Raphael saw the text at about six, an hour before their father was scheduled to get home. The small turtle slowly mouthed the syllables, getting through the sentence at an agonizing pace before Donatello swiped the phone and read the sentence at his preferred speed.

“Papa’s gonna be home late Leo!”  
Big dark blue eyes looked up just in time to see the brainiest of his brothers get tackled to the ground, Raphael wrestling to regain possession of the blackberry cellphone. Leonardo, remembering how angry Splinter had been the last time they’d broken a phone by fighting over it, trotted over and took the device from his feuding siblings before texting back.

[time?]  
[Very late. There is apple sauce and cheese sticks in the fridge. Nuts raisins and crackers in the cabinet. Be in bed by 8.]  
[Ok]  
[Make sure everyone brushes their teeth and washes their face too]  
[Ok]

“What is it?”  
Leonardo had just sent out the last text before his youngest sibling snatched the phone from his hands, squinting at the letters with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in concentration.  
“Papa’s gonna be late” Leonardo explained before his brother could finish reading the first word, snatching the cell right back much to Mikey’s displeasure.  
“We’re gonna eat and get ready for bed without him”  
“No bedtime story?”  
Leo shook his head no, a dutiful look on his face as he trotted to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, standing on his tiptoes in order to reach the assigned snacks.  
“Don’t worry though! Papa usually makes up for this stuff. He’ll prob’ly bring pizza tomorrow!”  
Though this reassurance seemed to please the youngest turtle, Donatello and Raphael didn’t look all too happy.

“He shouldn’t be out _longer_! He needs to sleep _more_! Thas’ the opposite of what I told him to do!” Donatello said, sounding close to tears as he gave a little stomp of his foot.  
“Whadya mean he’s not going to be home?!” Raph added, joining in with his sibling’s protests “He’s never home and I miss him!”  
“He misses us too!” Mikey whined in turn, now crying for reasons he himself didn’t quite understand until Leonardo and shoved an unwrapped cheese stick into his mouth, satiating him.

“We just gotta be patient. We’ll watch TV” Leonardo reassured, as if watching television wasn’t something they’d already done all day to pass the time waiting for their father to get back. Already bored by his brother’s suggestion Donatello peeled back the translucent foil on the window, big ruddy brown eye peering up at the sky.

“Turn it to the weather channel. I don’ like the look of those clouds. Papa really should’ve looked at them before deciding to stay out longer”  
Raphael wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and found the remote, slowly clicking his way toward channel six. Mikey chewed contentedly on his cheese stick as he yanked some blankets down from the back of the couch, curling up on the floor in front of the screen as his eldest brother delivered the food and began dividing it out between his siblings.


	3. An Incoming Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter has an awkward dinner date. The turtles get some unexpected guests.

The rain started down at seven, pattering lightly on the roof of the old car as it rumbled down an unseemly backroad downtown, distant flashes in the sky warning that the weather wouldn't remain a mild shower for very long. Splinter kept his eyes on the world outside, the nauseating scent of cigarettes and the dilapidated surroundings making him want nothing more than to back out of the offer and instead go home to make his sons ham sandwiches like he had originally intended. However, knowing that this conversation needed to happen eventually, he figured he might as well get it over with now rather than risk another unexpected visit from his current host. And besides, turning Nezumi down this far into the drive would’ve been rude. Shaky past partnerships aside he was no heathen.

Despite the lack of new texts for the past few hours Splinter had put his phone on silent, and was now taking a moment to read over the recent messages, holding them close for reassurance as the car finally halted to a stop, Nezumi declaring a cheerful “Here we are!” as he put the vehicle in park.

  
Splinter peered out through the droplets that had gathered on his window and spotted a wooden sign swinging in the wind, which read “Dell’abate, Ristorante” in svelte cursive letters. Definitely Italian. He hadn’t heard of it before, but it’s exterior was nice enough to dissuade the fear of food poisoning. Opening the car door Splinter lifted the collar of his jacket over his head and made a run for the safety of the awning.

Once inside the thick air of humidity evaporated, replaced by a gentle warmth and the scent of garlic, seared meat, and marinara. The atmosphere was a cozy burgundy that spoke of soft chairs and hot food, but Splinter’s opinion of the situation took a sharp downward turn when he noticed the large man sitting at the end of the central table, lips red with tomato sauce, enormous paunch pressed up against the massive buffet before him. Nobody else seemed to be here except the men in suits surrounding the sole diner, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously as they polished the weapons they had at the ready.

Splinter took an instinctive step backwards, the name of the overweight figure at the table writhing at the back of his mind, when Nezumi quickly came up behind him and said it aloud.  
"Don Visioso! I mean, Mister Visioso sir"

The mob boss glanced up from his meatballs with a look of annoyance, but the moment his gaze fell on Splinter he seemed to be graced with small smile. Sitting up straight Visioso slurped up the last few strands of pasta into his mouth, patting his fat lips dry with a cloth napkin, mouth still half full as he spoke.  
"Siddown Mister Takada."

"What is this?"  
Splinter's question was greeted with silence as pair of rough hands took him by the shoulders, guiding him into the seat at the opposite end of Visioso’s table where a plate of spaghetti and a basket of garlic bread were placed in front of him. Though the situation was enough to put him off his appetite altogether Splinter didn't want to start off this sort of meeting with insult, so he played it safe by carving up one of the meatballs on his plate with his fork, looking around the room for a sign of disapproval before placing a bite in his mouth.

"Daiki, you' know why you're here?"

Splinter didn't look at Visioso, rather he kept his eyes down, corner of his gaze gracing across Nezumi who was standing at a distance amongst a group of gangsters like a convict standing amongst cops.  
He couldn’t be certain, but Splinter had a guess as to what was going on. Visioso had likely gotten into another feud with opposing gangs and Nezumi, as always, found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. But rather than kill the thug right away he probably remembered the underground fights all those years back and a deal was struck: rat out "The Splinter,” don't end up in a back alley with two missing kidneys and a Colombian Necktie.

"I would suppose… you need a favor from me?” Splinter said under his breath, and the mob boss let out a harsh laugh, one that sounded less like a jolly chuckle and more like the throes of a heart attack.  
“Ha ha! Don Visioso don't need no favors. You on the other hand? You're looking for money aren't you?"

"Isn't everyone?"  
Splinter continued to cut up his pasta with his fork, refusing to allow the look on his face or the tone of his voice betray how nervous he was, hoping to stay in the safe zone of “respectful yet levelheaded” until he found a way out of this situation.  
"Nezumi told me there's a big fight with a high price. I want to go out with a final hoorah and retire. Simple as that."

Don Visioso laughed again, harder this time, spraying breadcrumbs all across the table… and onto his dinner guest.  
“You think that just some muscleman off the street can get into something like this?”  
He broke out of his laughter into a cough, which he medicated by shoving an entire lamb shank into mouth, gnawing on it like a starved dog.  
“Nah nah... you want big money? you need connections."

”Connections?”  
Splinter brushed the spewed flecks of garlic bread from his hair. Don Visioso, gave a red-stained grin.

"I want you as a bodyguard Takada"  
The mob boss ripped another roll of bread in half, the fine crust making a loud cracking sound in his hands which Splinter found somehow evoked a very morbid image.  
"Getting good help ain't easy these days. Given the way you turned my guys into minced meat before going underground I figured I'd find ya' and give ya' a chance."

Splinter nodded in understanding, paused for a few seconds in thought, then continued to carve up the food on his plate. He took another bite, earning himself a little extra time to consider his answer, and when his mouth was finally empty he looked up. Every eye in the room was now dead set upon him, ready to pass judgement on whatever may be his response.  
“I…” he hesitated “I… wanted to retire."

“Ya’ ninety years old or somethin’!?”  
Visioso pointed his fork at his dinner guest, the prongs of which were still speckled with red sauce and bits of meat, painting yet another unintentionally morbid image in Splinter’s mind.  
“You’s a fighter. It’s in your blood, nobody gets as good as you without some serious training and dedication. Sure, you ain’t no fellow Italian, but I ain’t an easy man to impress, so I thought I’d extend this’ere once in a lifetime opportunity.” The Don belched, jostling the table forward as he leaned back in his chair. “We’ll get you a nice suit and a paycheck to match, and soon you’re gonna practically be one of… us… er… what’reya doing?”

Everyone in the room looked at Splinter in confusion. The man had now unscrewed the top of the salt shaker and was dumping half of the contents into his palm, causing Don Visioso to momentarily lose his train of thought and inquire about the antics.  
“Salt over the shoulder. For good luck” Splinter explained, tossing just a pinch of what he’d collected over his shoulder before shoving the rest into the pocket, taking a second to brush his forefinger over the lump marking where the switchblade was hidden, double-checking to ensure it was still there  
The expression “one of us” had immediately struck a negative chord with Splinter, as he knew exactly what this “bodyguard” position would entail. He would no longer just be skimming the surface of the underworld for a quick buck but he’d be all in, no holds barred. He’d be expected to intimidate and maim and kill at the beck and call, risking the lives of innocent people, and that wasn’t even mentioning all the crimes that he’d be forced to remain silent about or else run the risk of getting murdered himself.  
He looked over at Nezumi, frail and nervous between the dapper armed men. Splinter hated to admit it but he felt a little bad about the thug’s situation. Hopefully his safety hinged on arrival, not agreement, because otherwise Splinter knew he could not go through with this. Not to this extent. Money or no money there were some lines he just could not cross.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Siddown Mister Takada.”

“I’m sorry, but I must get home”  
Splinter put his fork aside, stood up, pushed in his chair, and began to back away  
“the weather outside is growing worse and I don’t want Nezumi to have to drive me home in a storm. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at another time?”

The answer to this suggestion was immediately made clear, as he made it approximately five steps to the door before the sound of a cocked gun stopped him in his tracks. Three broad-shouldered bodies stepped in to block Splinter’s path, two more walking up to either side of him to take him by the shoulders and forcefully guide him back toward the table where Don Visioso sat waiting.

“Mister Takada, I am a generous man but I ain’t patient. How'bout you finish hearing me out before runnin off, eh?"

Splinter was shoved back into place, now held to the chair by heavy hands that remained firm upon his shoulders. Fighting off the urge to defend himself Splinter continued playing calm, feeling the barrel of that loaded gun beat heavily on the back of his head, the increased sound of thunder itching at his growing impulse to panic.  
“So, you really want me that badly?"

"Gotta get to you before anyone else got the bright idea of hiring you on"

"I assure you,” Splinter picked his fork back up and continued to eat, his eyes now dead set upon his morbidly obese confronter at the other end of the table “I don't have any intention of joining anyone."

“You say that now, but ya' see, there’s other gangs in New York who are gonna want you on their side, gangs who won't be so friendly with you" Visioso argued back as he shoveled another forkful of noodles into his mouth, splattering a fresh coat of sauce on his lips. His fat fingers gripped a bowl of soup, bringing it to his mouth before he continued on his point, somehow forming words between greedy slurps of broth.  
"Bribes are one thing, but every man has something he wants to protect... family, possessions, secrets... what'll ya' do when those things get threatened, eh?"

Splinter's thumb brushed against the hidden weapon once more as he took a deep breath and gathered himself, prodding at the food on his plate with his fork, going so far as to give his captor a somber smile in attempt to keep himself from the looming brink of an outburst.  
”No need to worry about that. I don't have any family left. My secrets are small and insignificant, and though I am not exactly against money there are some jobs that I'm simply not interested in"

“Yeah? well we'll see about that"

Splinter stiffened half way through sawing through a meatball, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he stared at the mob boss with a narrowed expression.  
“What do you mean?"

“Well ya see, Nezumi gave me your address”  
Visioso nodded at the thug in the corner of the room, who actually looked a little bit regretful about the revelation “I sent some of my guys over to your place just a few minutes before you got in.”

Splinter would’ve stood up if the hands on his shoulders hadn’t kept him in place, but he couldn’t help the sudden demand that flew from his lips, his palms slamming down on the table in front of him.  
“Call them off!”

For what might have been the first time since Splinter arrived, Don Visioso stopped eating completely. The hands of the surrounding men flew to their individual weapons and held them at the ready, followed by a long agonizing silence clouded by the sound of rain, punctuated by a thunderclap. As seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, the mob boss eventually settled into a hearty chuckle.  
Seeing their leader in good humor, all the surrounding men began all began to laugh themselves, letting loose a wave of mocking chuckles that seemed all too genuine.

Splinter’s calm conserved manner had snapped so suddenly and unexpectedly that, after the initial shock, it created an air of sick amusement, like a sudden instance of slapstick in the middle of a long boring drama. Unthreatening, unexpected, and hilarious, to the audience it was simple impersonal schadenfreude, but to Splinter it was deeply personal and viscerally terrifying. The turtles would be waiting for him to get home, they might lower their guard in anticipation, and whoever Visioso had sent would not recognize them as loved ones or even as valuables. To them the children would be nothing but terrifying mysterious monsters cloaked in shadow, which they would defend themselves against with whatever weapons they had been armed with. The only thing Splinter could only think of in this moment four innocent pairs of eyes staring into the barrel of a loaded gun, seconds away from going off.

“So, Mister Stoic **does** have secrets” Visioso guffawed, his laughs bursting out of his obese form like the death throes of a stuck pig “Don’t worry Daiki. You and me? We’ll practically be family by the time your an official part of the gang. We can keep your secret so long as you accept our offer.”

"Call them off!" Splinter repeated, shouting to press through the surrounding laughter, which only seemed to get louder with his own ever increasing tone of desperation "I accept your offer, just call them off!"

“I don’t think I will”

  
Splinter felt the grips on his shoulders grow tighter, the thugs reaching out firmly take hold of his forearms as well to ensure he stayed in place.

“I’m curious to see what this deep dark secret of yours is Daiki. My guys are gonna tear apart your apartment until they find it”  
Visioso leaned forward, stomach shoving the table into Splinter’s chest  
“When they do, you’ll either be working for me, or the whole world’s gonna know exactly what it is you’re hiding”

Another thunderclap; bright, earsplitting, jarring, the electricity losing function for a split second, flickering the lights. Hamato Yoshi did not hesitate to take advantage.  
In a half second of darkness the two men holding him in place crumbled, their captive forcing his own release with sharp blows before he moved on to clenched the edge of the tablecloth and yank it free, entangling everyone in reach in it’s folds as he scattered Visioso’s lunch about the floor. The Fulchi twins drew their guns and took aim, but their target had been lost a mess of scattered food and confused colleagues intertwined in marinara-stained cloth. By the time the lights had regained their glow and Splinter was back in their line of sight he was rushing right at them, clenched fist releasing a billow of table salt into their faces. Sudden random gunfire embedded bullets into the walls, but ultimately the twins were left dazed on the floor far from their guns, clutching their bruised abdomens as they worked to free their eyes of the burning salt.

Nezumi stared in awe, seeing his old colleague fight just as well as he had they day they’d met, striking with all the power of a spurned racehorse and moving twice as fast. However, Splinter seemed to have a fixed goal of clearing away the men blocking the door, and with the unwanted guards having fled to attempt to take down the infuriated Daiki the thug saw his opportunity to exit stage right. Back pressed against the far wall Nezumi eased his way to the doorway, taking off at top speed the moment he had an opening while The Splinter went about dealing with Don Visioso’s men the way a bull would deal with matadors made out of fine china.

 

 

 

“Leo… Leo…”  
The eldest turtle let out a tired moan as he gradually woke up, examining his situation with a hazy sense of sleep-induced amnesia. He was wrapped in a nest of blankets on the floor, the television left on as the forecaster talked about a weather alert and severe thunderstorm warnings. The covered windows clacked and rattled with the sound of large wind-driven raindrops and rumbled with the approaching thunder. Their apartment, warm and dry and safe as it was, had since been covered in bits of food and empty plastic packaging. Michelangelo’s mouth sported a beard of cracker crumbs as he snored a short distance away, curled up in the arms of Raphael who was now serving as his momentary guardian from the thunder in Splinter’s absence.  
That was when Leonardo remembered Splinter was gone, as well as the fact that it was now long past their bedtime and nobody had brushed their teeth or washed their face like they’d been told.

“Leo”  
“Donnie! we need to get ready for bed-“  
“Shhh!”  
Donatello, the perpetrator of the much needed wakeup call, suddenly slapped his hand over his older sibling’s mouth. Leo made a frustrated “mfff” noise beneath the palm, shooting Donnie a furious glare, two seconds from writhing his way out of the grip when he heard it too:  
A loud, angry slam.

_“Hey! I told you to let me get my lock picking kit”  
“And I’m telling you, just break the knob!”_

Their gazes flew to the entrance, the metal knob jostling violently within the door.

_“Won’t that draw attention?”  
“In this trashcan of an apartment? We could shoot somebody in the hall and the staff probably wouldn’t notice the corpse out until a month later, now c’mon…”_

Now Raph too was drawn out of sleep, leaving Michelangelo curled up on the floor as he sat up, the sound of foreign voices bickering right outside the door jolting him into full awakening.  
Another slam, this one accompanied by the audible sound of bolts cracking, the doorknob sent askew in the impact.

Rule one.  
The crumbs and packages were wrapped up in a blanket and stuffed beneath the couch. They were going to turn off the tv too, but Raph couldn’t find the remote in time.

Rule two.  
They walked on the balls of their feet, which was a little harder for Leonardo since he was now carrying Michelangelo, who somehow hadn’t woken up in the commotion.

Donatello amongst the pots below the kitchen sink, Raphael buried in the laundry basket in the bedroom area, Leo and Mikey taking the space in the coat closet, nestled amongst the winter garments that had been pushed to the far back corners of the meager storage area.  
One final slam and the knob shattered. Heavy feet tore their way into the dark apartment, flashlights flickering about the walls and furniture amidst the hazy glow of the tv where the weather woman continued to track the progression of the storm making it’s way through the city.

Leonardo clutched his youngest brother tighter, hoping his sibling’s inevitable awakening would be a quiet one, praying that the intruding figures wouldn’t be around long, that they would see that there was nothing of value here and make their leave.

Rule three.  
Wait for the signal.

 

Wait for the signal.

 

Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits.


	4. Crossword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter pretends to read a newspaper. The turtles play an old, well-rehearsed game.

Don Visioso only peeked out from behind the toppled table when he was certain the coast was clear and silence finally pervaded past the sound of the raging storm outside. Splinter of course was now gone, tearing through the rain at top speed, leaving behind what looked like to be disaster scene in his wake. The remnants of the hefty meal painted every corner of the room, beaten men and weapons scattered as if a tornado had flown through a gangster-themed prop shop.  
The mob bosses’s rocket powered chair slowly circled the room, fat leg dangling out to give one of the unconscious men a firm kick in the side.  
“C’mon, get up! All’ve ya get up!”  
The room steadily filled with moans, scattered thugs gripping their skulls and joints as they worked to obey their boss and pull themselves from the floor, some more successfully than others.  
“I can’t believe all of you pansies can’t handle one weaponless nobody!”

“Give’s a break boss, he wan’t weaponless” one of the Fulci twins argued in response to the scolding, he and his brother amongst the first to recover despite how their eyes were still red and teary from the salt that had been thrown in their faces  
“The man had a knife, see?”  
They flashed where their hands and cheeks had been cut when their attempt to bounce back from the makeshift blinding powder was met with vigorous retaliation.  
  
The strongest of the thugs, The Hammer, threw in his own two cents in as he finally located the yellow glint of his prized signature weapon; a golden hammer he had momentarily lost amongst concussed bodies and the pasta-stained wallpaper  
“Hey yo, weapons or no weapons, ee’s… eh…”   
Spotting one of the unconscious men lying nearby the thug gripped a fork embedded in his bicep and yanked it out, staring at the utensil through cracked sunglasses and a surprised expression  
“Ee’s… uh… good at improvising”

“Look I don’t care if he’s got the entire national guard in his pocket” Visioso continued, face flushed with anger “I’m not gonna stand by and let a maniac like that run loose in my city, now go get him!”  
  
The three men looked at each other hesitantly, forcing their glances into determined stares as one of the Fulchi twins reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone.  
“I’ll call for backup” he muttered while dialing “judging by that little outburst I think we’ve all got a pretty good guess as to where he’s going”  
“We chase the punk down, and then it’s payback time!” his brother assented with a firm nod, pounding his fist in an intimidating fashion, ignoring the sting of his injured palm.  
“Hey yo, it’s about time this’ere ‘The Splinter’ meets with ‘The Hammer’… amiright?”  
The Hammer was greeted with a few blank stares, but wisely enough nobody made any comment about the quality of his quip. One more sharp “go get him already!” from Don Visioso was all it took before the trio was back out the door, leaving behind a room of groaning lackeys trying desperately to pull themselves together.

 

The downpour was reaching it’s peak now, wind tearing the sheets of blinding rain sideways, meager coat straining to hold on to Splinter’s shoulders while big drops of water assaulted his face and eyes. He had barely run a couple of feet before his outfit was soaked all the way through, but he didn’t care. Thoughts fixed to the turtles he continued with all his might through the hellish weather, stumbling through puddles that swallowed his feet up to his ankles.  
There was a beacon of hope however. Just across the street there was a glowing sign for an entrance to the subway. Though none of the trains ran past his home Splinter knew that if there was anywhere to find a crowd to lose himself in, it was the New York subway.  
  
Don Visioso’s goons, as soaked as they were angry, had just enough time to see the top half of Splinter disappear down the stairwell alongside a small group of drenched pedestrians. One of the Fulci twins called attention to his companions over the sound of rain beating the pavement and they gave chase. Splinter shouldered his way through the umbrella-wielding group of commuters in his desperate struggle to get out of sight, and though his nudges evoked a few murmurs of disdain it was nothing compared to the shouts and curses coming from those being forcefully thrown to the floor by Visioso’s main trio, who were tearing through the line in their efforts to regain lost ground and catch up with the ninja.  
Splinter kept his head down, hands buried in his pockets as he quickened his pace, fingers tightly clasping the handle of the switchblade as he felt the eyes of the pursuers beat down upon the back of his head, the sound of startled shouts and pounding feet swelling at his heels.  
Of course Splinter considered the option of doubling back, facing his pursuers head-on a second time and ensuring the rest of his flight home would be uninterrupted. Uninterrupted, of course, so long as he didn’t get the police called on him, which was a much more likely outcome if he tried extreme measures in such a crowded environment.  
With four children in peril waiting for him at home Splinter knew he couldn’t risk it. He needed to think quick, remember his training. New life or not he was a ninja at the core, he simply needed to utilize his surroundings.

The eyes of The Hammer and The Fulci Twins remained fixed the big brown coat of their target, watching faux leather fluttering between bodies as it hurried through the crowd. The trio closed in, shoving down whoever or whatever was in their path, ready to draw their weapons when suddenly… as if by magic… there appeared to be another head altogether connected to the garment. Passing between a gap in the crowd Daiki’s grey-streaked hair and sharp squared features had transformed into the grey frayed head and pointed nose of another man entirely.   
The stranger, obviously not Daiki, looked about as confused to be wearing the coat as the thugs were to see him in it.  
That was when it became clear that their attentions had been intentionally drawn off by the jacket, which Daiki had shed in a successful effort to draw off his pursuers' gaze and lose them. Still, they figured their target couldn’t have gotten far, and with a nod the Fulci Twins and The Hammer split off into three separate directions to begin meticulously rooting through the surrounding crowd of commuters for their target.

 

 

Fifteen minutes had passed since the break in. Leonardo was only aware of that by glancing at the cellphone, it’s glow his sole light source. But besides being a way to tell the time it also served as it’s own threat, for while Leo was thankful for a method of contacting his father he had no idea how to put the device on silent.  
Not that the thugs wouldn’t look in the closet either way. During this time they had leafed through everything they could get their hands on, the inability to locate any sort of a computer audibly frustrating them. They were clearly searching for something else in particular, though what it could possibly be eluded the hiding four year olds.  
Mikey in the meantime was still asleep, thumb nestled within his mouth as Leo piled a coat on top of him, hiding him further, preparing for the moment the men inevitably made their way to the closet to continue the mysterious search.

Raphael forgot the pungent scent of unwashed clothes when the thugs rummaged their way into the bedroom area, boxes beneath the mattress torn free from their dusty hiding space and dumped out onto the floor. In a glint of lighting the green eyed tot could distinctly see the strangers thumbing through dried cherry blossoms pressed between handwritten notes, and Splinter’s old photo of him and his wife, arm looped lovingly around her shoulder. The intruders recognize Shen as “the same dame” from the family picture in the living room, thus the room was filled with another blinding flash of light… this one from a clicking camera shutter as the goons took a snapshot.  
Then, once everything beneath the bed had been suitably rooted through, they moved on.  
In their hurry, however, one of them accidentally knocked over the dirty laundry hamper. Covering his mouth and nose Raph did all he could do to remain quiet as his body made contact with the floor. Still, despite his complete silence and motionlessness the intruders hesitated for a second.  
“Ey Marco, did that laundry basket seem like it had something heavy in it to you?”  
“Dunno” his partner replied “But if you want to go rooting through a stranger’s dirty underwear, that’s on you Vinnie”  
“Ugh. Don’t say that man. But I’m thinkin’ maybe he hides his computer in there or somethin’?”  
  
Raphael felt the footsteps move toward the pile of laundry in which he was buried and braced himself for whatever was to come, when suddenly there was a cacophony of clattering pots in the kitchen area, saving him at the last second before he was uncovered.  
Everyone in the apartment was startled, including the source of the sound: Donatello. He had overheard the conversation, as well as caught a glimpse of where Raph had hid, and knowing his sibling was in danger the brainy little tot rushed from his hiding place armed with a frying pan. He threw the stainless steel into the sink, inadvertently smashing the handle of a mug in the process, but was ultimately successful in creating a diversion before diving back into hiding.  
By the time Marco had raced into the kitchen with his gun drawn Donnie was back amongst the pots, and by the time Vinnie turned his attentions back to the laundry basket Raphael had switched locations, scampering out from the pile of clothes to hide himself amongst the pre-searched boxes beneath the bed.  
“Hey Marco! Didja find anything?”  
“Nah, I think a pan just fell over into the sink. Matter of gravity. You?”  
“Nothin. Man, I coulda’ sworn there was something in here…”

Leo peeked out of the closet, opening the door ever so slightly to get a good look at the current situation. The goons had now returned to the far end of the living area to double check the nooks and crannies, and were debating with each other about whether or not Daiki would keep anything noteworthy amongst the kitchenware. On the other side of the room, however, was the exit… left slightly ajar in the midst of the break in.  
Leo’s eyes widened, the text of his father echoing in his mind as clearly as if it had been said out loud  
_“Remember the fire escape on the fifth floor? It leads to an alley where there is a drainage pipe leading into the sewers. If you can’t hide and must run, go there.”  
_ Turning away from the closet door Leo looked at Mikey, still snoring away beneath the pile of coats. It only took a few more seconds of consideration before he decidedly woke his sibling with a gentle shake. When Mikey’s eyes fluttered open Leo greeted him by placing a finger over his own lips in a gesture of silence. By some miracle the freckled tot didn’t react by loudly questioning the situation, but he did look immensely confused as to what was going on.  
There was another clicking flash of the camera shutter, Vinnie and Marco having lifted the couch to find the collection of toys, books, and half-eaten snacks. This caused a murmur of conversation, loud speculation about “nephews or something” occurring between the flashes and clicks of that camera.  
They were distracted, and it seemed to Leo that they’d be distracted for a while.

Still gesturing for his youngest sibling to stay quiet he pointed at the open doorway just outside the bounds of the closet.  
“Go ta’ floor five” he whispered “I’m gonna get the others.”  
Michelangelo still didn’t fully understand what was going on, but he remembered his father’s instructions and knew better than to disobey Leo when the situation was this serious. Fearful tears forming in his eyes he kneeled down at the sliver of light of the ajar closet, heart beating in his throat as he built up the courage to race toward the open doorway. With a sharp inhale he dashed forward, remembering his lessons on how to move both quickly and quietly, and Vinnie and Marco didn’t even look up from their work as the first of the four turtles escaped through the open door into he hallway.  
Just in time too, for the moment Michelangelo was safely out of sight the thugs finished up with the snapshots of the children’s toys, turning around finally took notice of the coat closet that they had somehow missed up until now.  
Leo ducked down, backing off into the winter wear, holding his breath as the men slowly made their approach.

  

 

Splinter scanned the surrounding crowd through the tiny slit he had made in crease of the sports section of a newspaper. He had borrowed it from an elderly woman standing nearby, who happily lent it to him in exchange for some assistance with the crossword. He really didn’t care about sports, but it served as a suitable hiding spot for his upper half as he stood around and waited for the coast to be clear.  
“A series of large wooden stakes or posts surrounding an enclosure” the tender crone said as she tapped her wrinkled chin with the pencil “Seven letters”  
“Palisade” Splinter answered without skipping a beat “P-a-l-i-s-a-d-e”

They weren’t leaving. The Fulci twins were weaving in and out of sight, one replacing the other just when it started to seem like they were moving on. Splinter’s fingers tightened around the newspaper as he felt the minutes tick by, growing increasingly uncertain of whether his patience could outlast his pursuers.

“Alrighty mister smarty pants” the old lady joked, filling in the final few letters “What about… hmm… the fear of clusters of small holes or bumps?”  
“Trypophobia. T-r-y-p-o-p-h-o-b-i-a”  
“Trypophobia… t…r…”  
She slowly mouthed each individual letter, Splinter glancing over at her with a nervous half-smile. If he had been a kid the woman’s grandmotherly company would’ve been comforting, but in a time like this she was so chatty and delicate he felt bad for having chosen the area next to her to wait for the coast to be clear, just because her newspaper served as good cover.  
She had offered him her umbrella too, commenting on how soaked he was so loudly that Splinter was afraid his position would be revealed. He was confident that if he were to be discovered at such a time as this he would simply throw all caution to the wind and beat any attempted assailants into unconsciousness.  
But no. No time for such thoughts now. He just had to keep calm and get home. It would be okay… a bit of casual conversation would help him blend in.  
  
“Overwhelming homesickness”  
Splinter doesn’t hear the crossword definition at first, his eyes on the little rip of his newspaper, the twins rotating out to make way for The Hammer, who was venturing far too close for Splinter’s liking. Beyond that is the loading subway car which is nearly ready to leave. It’s next stop wasn’t particularly close to his apartment, but it wouldn’t be carrying him any farther away from his destination either.  
“Overwhelming homsickness… nostomania” he said at last “n-o-s-t-o-m-a-n-i-a”

Splinter shuffled back to lean against the wall, sopping shoes leaving little puddles on the floor. He wonders if The Hammer recognizes the waterlogged black oxfords, and through the corner of his eye he sees his question answered. The thug was approaching, gaze now fixed on him, a new determination in his strides and the glint of his cracked sunglasses.  
Pretending not to notice Splinter kept his own eyes fixed to the gap of his newspaper, looking dead ahead at the subway car loading it’s last few passengers.  
The doors let out a steady hiss and loosened, large hands reach down to apprehend Splinter's shirt collar, and the elderly woman absentmindedly asked for the word for the little plastic tip at the end of a shoelace. By the time she looked up however her helper was gone, the sports section she'd lent him smashed into the face of a nearby stranger, the thin paper tangled into the gaps of his broken sunglasses.  
Bounding across the stretch of hallway Splinter threw himself into the closing doors, having to turn sideways in order to make it through, the edges of the ingress nipping the cuff of his pant leg. Ultimately unharmed despite the close call Splinter got up just in time to see The Hammer's palms slam against the glass doors five seconds too late, a scowl on his face and bits of newspaper still stuck within the jagged corners of his ruined glasses. 

Splinter found it impossible not to smile in return, and petty as it was he indulged himself by waving at his pursuers when the train took off, The Hammer forced to back away from the doors as his target disappeared down the tunnel. Once safely out of sight Splinter turned to the fellow passengers to gauge their reaction. Some of them were too numb to the strange occurrences of the daily New York commute to really care about the scuffle, while the people who were staring quickly pretended they were minding their own business the moment they came under attention. Either way it didn't matter, Splinter was just happy to be out of the line of fire. Letting out a sigh he gripped an overhead rung, pondering what was the quickest route to the apartment from his upcoming stop as the train rumbled off into the distant tunnel.


	5. Crosswalks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter has some more trouble getting home. Leonardo remembers an old warning.

The roar of distant engines was masked by the sound of water pounding pavement and claps of retreating thunder growing softer by the hour, spaced by long intervals of silence. The wind too wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been before, but despite the signs that the storm was passing through the rain prevailed, still coming down heavily enough to impede Splinter’s vision. His hands dug into the pocket of his slacks, searching for the switchblade in order to have it at the ready, but he came up empty and remembered it had been lost inside the pocket of the jacket he had shed in the subway station.  
No matter. He didn’t need a weapon. He didn’t know how many people would be waiting for him at the apartment but God help them if they laid a hand on his sons.  
Then came the crosswalks. They were a sign that he was getting close to his destination, but with them came close calls with oncoming cars. After the holdup in the subway Splinter wasn’t about to stand around and wait for the walk signal to turn, and in his impatience he narrowly avoided a few bumpers as horns honked and men swore.  
He began to reach the backroads leading up to home, and as the population grew more sparse risky trips across roads became less treacherous. Sometimes no cars would come at him at all, even when his own light was red. 

Of course it happened in the one instance he’d least expect it. Of course it happened one moment where it didn’t make any sense.

The light shone as a bright white walk signal timed perfectly to his desperate sprint. However, Splinter had only made it midway across the road when there was an ear piercing screech of tires. The man piloting the vehicle didn’t have any lights on, and by the time Splinter saw his own reflection of the fast-approaching windshield it was too late. Being mid stride his knees and ankles were spared from being smashed by the bumper but the windshield ended up slamming into his side, sending him toppling over the roof over the trunk and onto the road behind the reckless driver.  
A few silent seconds passed in which Splinter simply laid upon the concrete, curled up in an overflowing pothole, his body seized with a shock as rain continued to batter him unceasingly. Numbness was soon to be followed by pain; hips, shoulders, back and ribs… all searing. His head still had met with the pavement pretty hard too, but not nearly hard enough to make him forget his mission. Shakily he rose to his hands and knees, fighting the urge to just lay there until his breaths stopped feeling like fingernails raking against the inside of his lungs.  
The lightless car had finally stopped. There was the sound of a door opening, undoubtably someone coming to check on him.

“ _Please give me a ride_ ” Splinter begged internally, certain the pain would be worth the price of a quick shortcut home “ _Please give me a ride. Please please please please…_ ”

Footsteps on the pavement moved in his direction. _Multiple_ sets of footsteps all shuffling out in a messy patter, conversation of men sucked inside of the continued drum of rainfall.  
Splinter felt another car come up behind him. A wave of panic flashed over him for an instant and he flinched, but this vehicle stopped long before it touched him. Relief aside, the sudden high beams were unwelcome, their appearance worsening the nausea bubbling up from the ache of his injuries.  
Again the sound of opening car doors, another set of footsteps, another bustle of men rushing over to examine him.

_“Hey, wait… isn’t this the guy we’re looking for?”_

Splinter tried forcing his eyes to adjust past the sudden glare of headlights as he heard these words spoken in a gruff unfamiliar voice. High beams, dark surroundings, and his own position on his hands and knees worked together to warp the surrounding onlookers into shadow people; a mass of similar bodies with similar physiques all dressed in a similar fashion, faces impossible to distinguish. Their words, however, were telling, but the uncaring tone of their voice was what struck Splinter as especially unsettling.

_“Dunno. Looks like ‘im, and the Fulci twin said e’ would be coming in this direction.”_  
_“The twin? Which one?”_  
_“Dunno. Can’t tell between the two, y’know?”_

They came a little closer and Splinter began to see his earlier interpretation was not simply a trick of the light. All of them, ten in total, looked similar. They all had similar physiques, and as for their faces… every single one of them was wearing a ski mask.  
  
“Who… are you?”  
Splinter presented his question gently and calmly despite his overwhelming desire to scream in frustration. He recognized who these people were, he knew they were working for Visioso, and although they were merely grunt workers without the combat skills of The Fulci family or The Hammer they still posed a threat thanks to their sheer numbers and loaded guns.  
Having just been hit by a car didn’t help either.  
“What’s going on? am I… being robbed?”  
_“C’mon Mister Takada, you’re not foolin’ us”  
_ Splinter felt the butt of a tommy gun nudge the side of his head.  
_“We know what we’re looking for. Asian, broad shouldered, hair greying a few years early…”_  
Splinter shifted slightly to sit on his knees and pointed through the curtain of rain at a distant empty street.  
“Just like that guy over there?”  
Every set of eyes that had once been fixed on him followed the direction of his gesture, glancing down the empty road. Seeing nothing, they frowned beneath their masks  
_“Whaddaya mean just like-”_  
Before the thug could finish his question the back end of his comrade’s gun was planted in his stomach, Splinter taking hold of the object that had previously been resting against his own temple to bring down the first man in his sights. Still gripping the weapon he swung his arm back again, ramming the barrel into the throat of the guy behind him, weapon going off just a few seconds short of burying ammo into the attacker’s neck.  
The old “look over there” trick. Easiest and oldest misdirection method in the book.  
Another spray of bullets went airborne as Splinter continued grappling with his assailants, the heel of his shoe smashing into the jaw of one of the masked men before he cleared an opening to the nearest alley.  
The sparking patter of bullets followed Splinter along the wall until he disappeared into the darkness between the buildings, a newfound stumble to the strides of his sprint as he was pursued by shouts, gunfire, and manic footsteps

 

 

 

Vinnie turned the knob to the coat closet and Marco headed in, tugging back jackets and cheap polyester winter wear to reveal what may be hiding behind them. Leonardo was thankful that he hadn’t chosen such an obvious hiding spot. Instead he had wedged himself tightly in the crook of the ceiling, holding himself in place by the tension of arms and legs against the far wall and the doorway.  
Pulling out large file boxes, the invaders thought they were on to something concerning lawyers or financial troubles, but Leonardo could tell even before they dumped out the contents that it was only their homework awaiting Splinter's weekend grading session; sets of writing exercises, worksheets about plant growth and the water cycle, pages of simple addition and subtraction equations, and a pile of miscellaneous highschool textbooks which were at present the only thing that present a real challenge to the intellectually advanced Donatello.

Leo winced when the camera flared up with another click, the men just beneath him continuing in conversation, sounding increasingly confused as they read off the worksheets to each other. The tot, out of morbid curiosity, attempted to catch a better look at the threats, but found he couldn’t see any features beyond the large fedoras covering the tops of their heads, casting opaque shadows over their faces.  
“If you can see their eyes, then they can see yours too” was his father’s warning one summer day some months back, when he had caught them trying to peel the translucent film from the apartment window to get a better look at the pedestrians. Back then the scolding was a precursor to punishment, but in this instance Leonardo found a strange sort of comfort in those words. He masked the light "pap" of his feet slipping to the ground with the next camera click and steadily rounded the doorway, barely a millimeter away from accidentally brushing up against Marco’s jacket before he slipped out of the cramped closet. After glancing behind him briefly to make sure he hadn’t been seen he broke out into a silent sprint to the sleeping area, where Raph was still curled up amongst the boxes, wide-eyed and shaky from his earlier close encounter.

Leonardo ducked half-way beneath the bed, took his sibling by the hands, and tugged in an effort to draw him out. There was a little bit of resistance at first, Raphael not wanting to leave his hiding spot. The more he kicked, however, the more he realized he was far more afraid of making a noise than being out in the open, so eventually he allowed himself to be lead away by his brother despite his worry.  
Hand in hand they dove behind the couch, peeked out to see the men still rooting through the papers in the coat closet, then sprinted the final distance to the open door, making it safely out of the compromised apartment into the vacant hallway.  
"Find Mikey” Leo whispered, releasing Raph’s hand to give him a bracing pat on the shoulder "Imma go get Don"  
Like before Raph looked like he wanted to argue. Like before he reached the conclusion that putting up a fight would waste precious time and draw unwanted attention. Thus, with a pout and the nod of his head, he tiptoed into the hall, whispering the name of the youngest while Leo slipped back out to collect his remaining brother.

Vinnie and Marco had moved on from the coat closet and were now double-checking the bookshelf, discussing the mystery stash of kids stuff as they dug through the collection of Doctor Suess, speculating about unknown relatives that could be tracked down. Once Leo made it to the kitchen area it took little searching before the ajar cabinet cracked open to reveal the ruddy brown eyes of the gap-toothed youngest, who was more than ready to follow the others out of the messy situation.  
Leo made a hushing motion and Donatello mirrored it. They exchanged a nod of understanding and the scientist began to climb out of hiding, unaware of the large stack of cooking pots sitting precariously close to his fingertips, just waiting for a nervous little toddler to give it a small accidental nudge… a nudge that would send it crashing down to the tile floor in a symphony of clatters that would put the broken mug from earlier to shame.  
In an earsplitting, heart stopping moment both the turtles were on the floor, staring wide eyed at the pots and pans scattered along the ground. Looking up from the mess they discovered two men in suits, fedoras atop their heads, far removed from the bookshelf as they were drawn the the kitchen area by the ruckus. Leo looked into their faces and his confidence fizzled. Brown eyes, green eyes, a round fat face and a square jaw, both expressions agape with surprise.

_“If you can see their eyes, then they can see yours too”_

  
Leo wasn’t sure who started screaming first… him, Donatello, or the thugs, but the next thing he knew he and his brother dashing out into the hall not caring two cents about stealth, the home invaders behind them shouting something loud and indistinguishable from deep within the apartment.

 

 

 

 

It was a mystery how anyone who just a few moments ago appeared immobile could scramble over the top of a high chain link fence so quickly. A few of the pursuing men had continued the chase in the same fashion, stumbling in the slippery footholds, clothes getting caught on the protruding edges of the fence before a goon of average intelligence noticed the padlock holding it closed. After being shot twice the lock fell to the ground in a heap of broken metal, and the barrier flung swung open to let in the flood of masked thugs.  
Awaiting them was a backstreet parking lot where company trucks and supply vans could easily reach the "employee's only" entrances of the currently unopened shops. Except for the gate there were no other exits, though ramps, metal railings, dumpsters, empty locked vehicles, and fire exits protruding from all of the surrounding buildings made for a decent set of hiding spots.  
Guns loaded they fanned out. Leaving two of their biggest men to guard the sole exit  
the group pointed their weapons in various direction as they stepped through the rain, a few of them very nearly opening fire on their coworkers when they rounded one of the obstacles and spotted each other through the downpour.  
Splinter in the meantime had found a momentary sanctuary inside a half-empty dumpster, returning his left shoulder to it’s proper place in it’s socket before checking himself over for other injures. His self-calming breathing exercises quickly proved to not be an option, not because of the scent of rot but because too deep of breaths shot daggers of pain through the ribs. A few careful touches against his chest and Splinter could safely say that the bones over his left lung were not merely sore, but cracked.  
But miraculously, despite the force with which he was hit, there no other damage besides some awful bruising that would undoubtably paint his torso black and blue come morning, but Splinter figured he should be thankful that the timing of the impact didn’t leave him forced to finish the journey home with broken calves.  
However, it was a meager bright side. His body still throbbed as punishment for his sudden movements, uncontrollable shivering due to the rain making things all the worse, but remaining still wasn’t an option.  
He had to make it home. He just wanted to go home. Was that truly too much to ask of the universe?

Splinter paused his reflections when the wandering sound of feet on gravel made it’s way to the outside of his hiding spot, coming to a stop right next to him. He tensed, setting his gaze upon the dumpster lid above him, working his mind for some sort of plan.  
There was a time when he knew how to disappear into the shadows seamlessly as a drop of water into a pond; one of many ninja skills pounded into him from a young age. Things had changed however, and though this sort of upbringing helped him teach the turtles how to move silently and hide themselves efficiently a good deal of what he himself had been raised with had now been dulled by other things; how to navigate big city streets, how to balance shoestring budgets, what type of spray was best to remove coffee from shag carpeting, how to use a floor buffer, methods of teaching beginner math to toddlers, etcetera. But despite it all Splinter knew the inner ninja was still there somewhere deep inside of him, he had proved it in the train station.  
He just needed to dig deep. He just needed to focus.

A masked duo, one of the four pairs of thugs roaming the parking lot, didn’t have much of a chance to exchange words, the shorter of the two a mere few seconds away from suggesting they check another area before he heard the shout of his comrade and the slamming of a dumpster lid behind him. Weapon upraised he spun around and was greeted with emptiness, excepting one final dull thud echoing out from within the dumpster followed by further silence. The remaining gunman swallowed a lump in his throat, cocked his shivering weapon, and made his approach. Knowing that blindly opening fire onto the dumpster posed the risk of putting holes in his ally he was unsure what to do, and was trying to figure out a way to safely tug open the lid to the disposal when it shot open on it’s own, knocking his gun upward and into his nose. Before he could recover two dagger-like hands suddenly smashed into the pressure points on either side of his neck, a sharp jabbing pain causing his vision to flare up with white before he crumbled beneath a final blow to his chest.  
Another group was drawn over to the source of the commotion, soon to discover one unconscious man hanging half way of the dumpster and the other... newly weaponless... laying insensible at the foot of one of the many surrounding trucks. The perpetrator, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.  
They called the others over, checking the two downed thugs for pulses while the rest gathered together to find where their target had disappeared too. Once they had all accumulated in the same spot there came the strange gunfire. It’s source was muddled by the rain but it seemed to be coming from above. Aimed to disarm rather than do any serious damage weapons broke free from the holds of their owners in a flurry of sparks, and the first person to to notice Daiki on top of the nearest fire escape was the first to go down completely. Their attacker leapt from his perch, wielding the newly unloaded gun like a blunt weapon, jabbing it with inhuman precision into soft spots and pressure points, every man in arms reach crumpling like paper dolls the moment they became a target.

In a flurry of panic one masked thug broke away from his comrades and dove for his own gun lying in a puddle on the ground, but by the time he was locked, loaded, and back on his feet his target had already disappeared again, and the two unconscious men had turned into seven in his wake.

Finding himself without backup the last man standing turned around frantically, pointing his weapon in every direction possible as he slowly worked to make his way back over to where two of their best stood guard over the gate. Assuming Daiki hadn’t gotten to them yet there was only the three of them total, but as scary as ‘The Splinter’ was there was no way they were letting Don Visioso know that their entire crew got bested by **_one guy_**.  
He made it past the row of trucks, walking backwards, now in the sights of the men at the gate, who called out to him to ask what was going on.  
Good. That meant were still conscious.

_“I’m beginning to see why Don Visioso wants this guy out of the picture!”_ the masked man shouted back through the rain, voice cracking slightly from stress as he kept his gun upraised, pointing it at every shadow that seemed to shift within the corner of his eye. In the distance there was a metallic snapping sound, like a lock breaking. Still walking backwards toward the gate the thug pointed his gun to the source of the noise, peering through the gaps of a metal railing to see back door to “Paul’s Meats” was now opened, rocking slowly on it’s rusted hinges in the wind.

  
Looked like Daiki was intent on making his own exit.


	6. Crossing Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter discovers meat lockers make for good hiding places. Leonardo bites off more than he can chew.

Despite the gloomy rumble of the surrounding rain and the pervasive scent of raw meat the masked men proceeded with feigned confidence, the two allies who had been previously guarding the gate joining the sole surviver of the first attack in entering the meat packing plant. Behind them the door to the alley slowly creaked on it's hinges, a shimmering beam from a New York streetlamp casting a meager spotlight on a second door at the end of the room; the entrance to a meat locker, wide open, bidding the intruders inside.  
"Jig is up Mister Takada" one of them shouted, companions scanning the other sides of the room in case the open meat locker was merely a diversion.  
"Come on out, and we might be inclined to give you a second shot at Don Visioso's offer."  
In truth they had no basis to make that claim. It was merely an attempt to draw their target into the open, if only to avoid having to enter the dark maw of the fridge. In the end the search of the corridor came up empty and Daiki gave no response, leaving the trio with little choice but to delve deeper into the darkness.

It was three against one, and yet amidst the hoard of hanging carcasses Visioso’s goons felt outnumbered. It was all the worse for the one currently heading the group with his gun drawn, who had witnessed their hidden target render seven men insensible just a few minutes before.  
The door gently swung shut behind him with a dull heavy thud, and he immediately retaliated by sending a spray of sparking bullets into the wall surrounding the door.

"Hey! Hey easy!"  
One companion, a laid-back older man who was all bulk beneath his one-size-too-small ski mask, grabbed hold of the weapon and forcibly lowered it.  
“Can’t let ‘im know where we’re coming from. We gotta sneak up on’im”  
The gunman, on the other hand, knew all too well from his experience that if he didn’t act at the first given opportunity the shoe was going to end up on the other foot. He pulled his weapon back up with a rebellious jerk, threatening to send another round of lead into the surrounding darkness.  
“Aye, s’gonna be alright!” his companion said again, speaking louder despite making no further attempts to disarm the other “You’ve got two of Visioso’s best bodyguards with ya, don’t he Frankie?”  
Franklyn, who had been the second man removed from his post at the gate, was a younger sailor sort, decked out in tattoos and so muscular he was practically neckless, constantly emitting the strong scent of Italian Cigars. At the moment this scent was masked by raw meat, his body hidden behind the merchandise that paid no response.  
"Frankie!"  
Again no answer. Then there was a low thump, like one of the cows had fallen off of it's hook. When the two followed the sound they discovered a body sprawled out on the floor, dressed in a suit and carrying the faint scent of cigars. The one with the gun took a step back, his expression pinched with tension  
“Oh no. Oh no Frankie”  
“C’mon, ee’s still breathe’n”  
The elder bent down and placed two fingers against the point where Frankie’s neck immediately met his shoulders, trying locate the pulse before eventually noting the rise and fall of the chest.  
“Aye, don’t panic. We stick together, we find this guy, we knock him silly. Capiche?”  
“Easy for you to say! You haven’t seen him man!”  
Weapon now shaking slightly, the other didn’t look at his sole remaining companion. His eyes instead were on the meat, searching them for any sign of movement between the shadows. He backed off, keeping his blindside shielded by the various hanging slabs, losing his partner in the darkness of the corners of his vision.  
“Y’know, maybe we should just open fire, wreck everything in sight!” he suggested with a nervous laugh “He’s got to be hiding somewhere ‘round here, right?”  
He turned his head back and forth briefly, waiting for some word of refusal or confirmation.  
All was silent. His final remaining ally was gone, lost amongst the hanging meat and the distant patter of rain.There was another thump like something heavy hitting the floor, this one preceded by a muffled yelp cut short. Knowing what was in store if he followed the sound he didn’t bother to pursue the matter. The final goon was practically hugging his tommy gun now, shivering far more violently than he had been before, his back pressed firmly against the icy hide of a slab of beef.  
He opened fire once again, secretly hoping for some sort of familiar reprimand from out of the darkness to prove he wasn’t alone. When nothing came, when no hand reached out to gently lower his gun, he opened fire again… this time aiming toward where he thought he heard the patter of footsteps. More silence. More maddening silence. The last man standing took a few seconds to wonder if they had been hired to chase after a phantom as he breathed heavily, trying to discern between the threat of footsteps and the thud of his own heartbeats. He was reaching into his belt for another round of bullets, when the slab he was leaning against suddenly jolted forward like it had been shoved by an opposing force, knocking him off balance. Spinning around the lone gunman unloaded a full clip into the beef, shells clattering against the floor, a long frightened scream tearing from his throat.  
When things went quiet and the weapon could emit nothing more than empty clicks, the thug’s stomach dropped as quickly and suddenly as his abrasive manner. As if he himself was under the threat of gunfire he threw the empty gun to the ground and put his hands in the air, backing his way toward the shut door.

“Look, look I’m done see? You win!” he called, upraised hands now shivering violently in place of the gun. He received a response: hands reached out and grabbed his wrists, knotting his arms tightly behind his back before a knee slammed him against the ground. Before he could so much as scream his face was pressed against damp concrete, the dark shadows of his his two strongest comrades laying just in view.“Ten men against one” Splinter’s voice growled from atop his victim  
“I know your employer doesn’t value honor, but this is ridiculous"  
“Oh my God! Oh my God please, don’t hurt me!”  
Splinter kept the man pinned, but couldn’t help but gain an annoyed expression when he heard the goon’s pathetic tone. Judging by the struggles he was in a fitful state of panic, which Splinter figured might as well be put to good use.He ground his knee into the man’s back, holding both his arms at such an angle as to threaten dislocation. The thug started shouting louder, tears wetting his rain-soaked mask.“C’mon! It was just orders! I’ll do anythin’ ya’ say! anythin’!”  
Splinter leaned down close, keeping the arms locked in a painful restraint.  
“Which one of you has the keys to your car?”  
“Frankie! Frankie has it, th’man with no neck and all the tattoos!”  
“Thank you”  
With that, Splinter jabbed two fingers into the side of the struggling captive’s neck, rendering him unconscious. Then he made his way back over to Frankie to check him over, and sure enough there was a set of keys in the back of his pocket, hooked together by a little Italian flag keychain.  
Splinter couldn’t help but wear a small relieved smile, gripping the well earned keys tightly to his chest before turning around and racing back out toward the parking lot, not bothering to give the trail of unconscious bodies so much as a second glance as he made his way to the vehicle with the slightest limp to his step.

 

 

Peering out into the hallway, Marco and Vinnie had not yet pieced together in their minds that the stash of children’s books were in any way connected to the creatures they had just saw.Were they gremlins? Aliens? They shot various possibilities back and forth between each other, wondering whether or not they should abandon the apartment to pursue the little green monsters that had shrieked and scampered away. In the end Marco volunteered to chase them down while Vinnie stayed put, continuing the raid while pulling out his phone, feeling the need to express to the rest of the group that they had found something worth consideration as he dialed Don Visioso’s number.Leonardo and Donatello were scampering down the hall hand in hand, forged together by equal desperation. Donnie suggested making the elevator their goal, but Leonardo refuted it. As much as he would’ve liked to ride an elevator the dangers of accidentally getting caught in a small space alongside unwanted company was all too apparent, even to a preschooler.  
He remembered Splinter’s instructions. They needed to get to the fire escape on floor five.The two stumbled their way to a flight of stairs, rushing up on all fours in order to scale the metal steps with better efficiency. The vacant corridor around them had a faint echo to it, and for a while Leonardo couldn’t quite make the distinction between the reverberation of their own frantic retreat and the heavy clomping of spats closing in from below. Only when the eldest turned his head and saw the looming shadow, hurrying at their heels like some sort of shapeless boogyman, did he realize that they weren’t nearly as far ahead as they hoped to be.Leo emitted a terrified yelp and viciously pressed a hand against his sibling’s shell, trying to force his younger brother to quicken his already straining pace.

While his elder brothers rushed to escape their pursuer, Mikey calmly strolled about the fifth floor. He had never seen the apartment hallways before excepting a few glances through closing doors, and he couldn’t help but pause to get an eyeful, the emptiness of the corridor putting him at ease. It was so big and spacious, perfect for a game of tag if only he was allowed. But right now was not play time, it was time to find the fire exit… even though Mikey just now came to the realization that he wasn’t really sure what a fire exit even looked like.He did, however, find a small lever looming just out of reach along the center of the wall. He didn’t care to put effort into reading the inscription that read “fire alarm,” as in his mind strange levers meant a mystery to be solved… maybe a secret superhero hideout!Momentarily forgetting his original mission he jumped to take hold of the lever, tiny green hands slapping the wall just short of it’s target.  
“What’er ya doin?”  
Mikey paused his efforts to look behind him, finding Raph wearing expression that could only be described as “annoyed inquisitiveness.”  
“Pulling the exit lever!” Mikey replied, giving an answer that he felt would most likely get his sibling off his case.  
Raphael looked at Michelangelo, then back up at the lever, then back at Michelangelo, then back at the lever. He squinted, and upon making out the word “fire” on the handle he figured that his little brother had found what he’d claimed. Sure, Splinter had described the fire exit as a big door with the apropos “fire exit” sign on it (which Mikey likely would’ve known if he had been paying attention), but maybe this particular exit was pull-lever activated.Either way, Raphael too was curious to walk away now. Without a word of warning he leapt up onto his Michelangelo’s shoulders, shoving his feet against his sibling’s forehead as he fought to climb up and take hold of the lever himself.

Closing in on their destination at a frantic pace Leo stopped looking back. He felt the stranger’s eyes beating against the back of his head, heard him thundering just short of him and his brother as they finally came upon the fifth floor and rounded the corner to escape into the hall. The voice of Marco shot up with an enthusiastic “gotcha!” when Donnie felt something grab the collar of his shell. Torn from the floor the turtle let loose a long terrified squeal. Leonardo didn’t even think twice before doubling back, losing his fear as he clung to the attacker’s leg and bore down on the meat of his calf with his teeth. The pant leg softened the blow, but the gesture still had it’s desired effect. There was a mess of frantic movement, the man shouting in pain and dropping Donnie as Leo continued to gnaw on the apprehended limb. Donnie, who had landed on his shell, worked to right himself as the thug gave a swift kick in order to release the toddler’s grip. He missed, and with a sharp shove Leo released the leg and sent Marco stumbling backward perilously over the edge of the stairwell. The sound of him tumbling head over heels all the way back to the first floor might have been rather comedic, had it not been covered up by the sound of a sudden loud blaring alarm accompanied by flashes of light.The world around them seemed to scream, hallways flaring up with bright red beams and an ear-piercing beeping.

Raphael let out a squeal and released the lever before falling backward onto his younger sibling. He was expecting any number of thing to happen once he succeeded in pulling the lever, but loud noises wasn’t one of those things. Suddenly feeling like he’d been the perpetrator of a really big mistake he forced his smaller brother to his feet, then began running to get away from the noise. He wasn’t sure which direction he was heading in, wanting nothing more than to escape the scene of the crime however possible. That was he and Michelangelo ran headlong into their siblings.  
Their collision drew all four children from their frantic states back into reality. Donnie, though still in tears, pointed out fire exit, taking a moment to scold his siblings for not noticing the big red glowing sign that said “exit” right next to a conspicuous door bearing an equally blatant “fire exit" sign. The scolding didn’t last long. Despite their limited knowledge of the world the turtles knew it would only be a matter of time before that alarm drew the attention of strangers, and the sooner they were out of sight the better. Working together the tots finally managed to push the door open and slip to the outside, making it to the landing of the fire escape just a mere few seconds before residents went stumbling out of their apartments, wondering what was going on and why… if there was no emergency… nobody had stopped the hideous noise yet.  
The rain shower had slowed a great deal since the storm began, but it was still wet and the reptiles couldn’t help but huddle together, the remaining dark clouds speckling them with rain and raking their skin over with wind. Descending the metal steps the children couldn’t help but think about how, even though they had already seen this part of the world through their window, the outside felt so very different from the inside. They could breath, the sky extended beyond mortal comprehension, and the New York Air… humid and dirty as it may have been… was to them fresh and exhilarating.The rain, however, was not quite as pleasant. Donatello was the first to start shivering, though Leonardo wondered briefly if it was from cold or from his recent encounter with the thug.  
“Donnie, do you see the storm drain?”  
Donatello nodded, pointing out a dark cavernous pit in the corner of the alley at the end of a rivulet of filthy rain water.The closer the quartet got to the drain, the less confident they felt about the hiding place. Mikey didn’t like the darkness, Raphael didn’t like the smell, Leo didn’t like the claustrophobic nature of that gap, and Donatello was theorizing that the location may be flooded after such a heavy rain shower. However, their father’s instructions were their only instructions, and standing out in the open wasn’t an option. Leonardo volunteered to go first to test the waters, literally and figuratively. His siblings gripping his hands and helping him through, his shell clearing the gap as he was released into the drainage ditch. Letting out a noise of disgust Leo leapt to his feet and found the water just barely met the level of his chest. The smell made him want to puke, but otherwise things seemed to be safe.  
Looking up at his brothers, the eldest gave a thumbs up and readied himself to catch whoever came next.

 

Splinter drove a little faster than was safe, barely straddling the line between simple recklessness and getting the police called on him. In the dry warmth of the lit car he could be seen sporting a large black bruise right above his left eye, scraped from the pavement but washed clean by rain. His breaths were short and shallow, but aside from that he gave little indication that he was in any pain, his face bearing a look of unshakable concentration as he stared daggers into his surroundings.He was not very practiced at driving. He knew how to do it, but he was far more accustomed to public transit. That fact, combined with his adrenaline fueled desperation, made for a perilous trip indeed.  
But it was faster than running, and the meat packing plant had only been a mere few blocks away from home. Splinter wondered briefly if showing up at the appartment in a strange car would rouse any suspicions. Or would anyone would really care so long as he left the keys with the car and made up some story about borrowing a vehicle from a friend?  
In either case his thoughts never wandered far from his sons, and the temptation to jump to conclusions and start preparing himself for the worst peaked when he finally reached his destination. He put the swiped vehicle in park right along the curbside, staring out the window at the flashing red and blue lights of two cop cars parked right outside his home.  
“Oh no.”  
Splinter threw the keys in the front seat and shut the door, burying his hands in the pockets of his soaked slacks as he climbed out of the car and raced toward the stoop of the apartment complex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Some projects came up and I needed to finish with the end of the school year. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out in a more timely manner now that Summer is here :)
> 
> Also, small edit: Some of the paragraph breaks didn't go through when I first posted ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I think it's fixed now tho


	7. In Deep Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter attempts to help his sons out of a tight situation

Splinter lingered in the lobby for a short while, keeping his ear open for any mention of giant turtles or strange monsters or apprehended cryptids, heart frozen within his chest as he watched intently for something that may suggest his children had been captured... or worse. There was no such buzz, just something about a breakin and a fire alarm. A false alarm set off by some lowlife prankster.  
Taking a small amount of comfort in this Splinter backed his way out the door before sprinting around to the other side of the building. Knowing his own instructions he located the fire escape, saw the drainage ditch, and sprinted to the end of the alley.  
“Boys?”  
He laid down on his stomach in front of the drain, bits of trash and mud clinging to his soaked clothes, his cracked ribs burning beneath the weight of his body the volume of the shout.   
“Boys are you in there?”

“Papa!”  
When he heard the little voices calling to him from the darkness the searing ache in his chest was immediately forgotten, washed away by a rush of ecstatic relief.  
Splinter could not help but laugh a little despite the pain, wiping away the tears coming to his eyes with the back of his muddy hand. When the turtles, far less subtle, expressed their own relief with joyous cheering, Splinter remembered the delicacy of the situation and shushed them with a smile.  
“Is everybody alright?”  
  
They all began talking in unison in response to their father’s question, telling their stories with such frantic exhilaration that Splinter could only pull out a couple of coherent words: Lever. Superhero. Mikey’s fault. Grabbed me. Bit him. Didn’t mean to.  
Splinter hushed them again, pleading for them all to lower their voices and speak one at a time.  
“Bad guys were sneaking through all your stuff” Raph said first “they were dumping your things on the floor and takin’ photos!”  
“ ‘Aphy pulled a lever that seddoff a loud noise!”  
“Mikey!”  
There was a sound of splashing as the two turtles had a momentary scuffle in the chest-deep sewer water. Leonardo of course shushed them, acting in place of his father before continuing on the subject with what he felt was the most dire detail.  
“We got seen Papa. We got seen by the two guys who got into the apartment…but nobody else I think!…”  
“You got seen!?” Raph suddenly butted in, voice cracking at the severity of the news.  
“ ** _I_** was seen. I knocked-… I knocked stuff over accidentally and was caught” Donatello admitted somberly, the stress of the past hour and it’s vague yet inevitable repercussions stressing him to the point of tears.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Splinter strugglingly reached his hand through the drain, straining to bridge the gap and make physical contact.  
“No. No I’m sorry. This is all my fault”  
Despite being the tallest of his siblings Donnie found himself having trouble reaching uphigh enough take hold of his parent’s hand.

“ _Your_ fault? Whadayou mean Papa?”

Splinter was quiet for a moment. He knew that the honest thing to do was come clean in layman’s terms, explain what he did, who these men were and why they came after them. But not here… not now…  
“I’ll explain later” he admitted with a sigh “but let’s just say your father is not incapable of making some really big mistakes.”

Leonardo was confused. In his eyes, their father _never_ made mistakes. Donatello might have expressed a different opinion however, if he hadn’t been so busy trying to leap the final distance to his target. With his legs submerged in filthy drainage water, however, he couldn’t get very far.  
“Papa, I can’t reach!”

“Wait, so we’re stuck down here?”  
Raphael’s inquiry, like the one before, was sharp and emotional. When Mikey overheard that panicked tone he audibly strained to hold back a sob, Leonardo started sniffling next in what appeared to be a chain reaction, Donnie already teary from his earlier admission. They were all of fairly weak spirits at present, recent events filled with such intensity that now that their father was here to reinstate a sense of safety a good crying session seemed to be the next natural course of action. Splinter quickly spoke up in order to sooth his sons before things spiraled any further out of control. His children could fall apart into a sobbing mess when they were back safe inside the apartment.  
“Don’t panic” he reassured “I’ll go inside and grab something to use to pull you up. You’re all going to be fine.”

Splinter rose to his feet, his chest burning with a fresh spasm of pain. Again electing to ignore the agony he began heading toward the doors of the apartment, bidding his children a quick reassuring “I’ll be right back” before rounding his way out of the alley.  


Once the beeping alarm was shut off the people inside the apartment began dispersing back into their rooms, determined to spend the final few hours left until morning catching up on their precious sleep. But the hallways were still unusually active, so Splinter made up a plan in his mind: he’d get a towel or a couple of old sweaters and use them as a rope to pull the four turtles out of the drain, then he’d put them all in a cardboard box and carry that box up to his room. It’d be heavy of course, but he was confident he could lift them pretty easily. Then, once they were all inside and cleaned up, they’d spend the rest of the night at home.  
The next day he’d get a cheap hotel room somewhere uptown where Visioso’s thugs wouldn’t find them. Then he’d stuff the fridge full of food, and leave the turtles momentarily in order to go to a hospital.  
Of course the last thing he wanted to do was leave them again, but despite his desire to keep them in his sights for as long as he could, they needed him too much for him to let himself get worse by neglecting his injuries.   
That car had hit him pretty hard. If he was lucky he wouldn’t stay at the hospital more than a day, though if they tried to keep him around any longer than three days Splinter he would probably end up sneaking out one way or another.

When he found his way to his room there were two police officers in the open doorway, having a brief conversation with his landlord. Splinter stopped suddenly, feeling his already frayed nerves tighten when the cops turned to look at him and then moved forward in a confrontational manner.  
“Mister Daiki Takada?”  
“Yes?”  
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid to inform you that your apartment was broken in to”  
Despite being genuinely relieved that they were only here about _that_  Splinter forced his face into an expression of surprise, widening his eyes and emphasizing his frown.

In all honesty he had forgotten that he had been the victim of a breakin. That explained the two cop cars outside of the apartment. Now that he thought about it that should have been obvious from the beginning, but while still in a state of panic every fiber of his being had screamed that someone had seen his kids and called law enforcement.

 

Sitting through their questions was suffocating.  
Splinter hoped he effectively played off his impatience as natural disconcertion, which may have been the case given how the cops seemed to end the meeting on a note of reassurance.  
Or perhaps the pitying behavior was directed more toward his injuries. Splinter had made up a story about falling down the stairwell while at work, and while the cops were a little concerned by the shallow breathing and visible bruises in the end they accepted the claim.  
He was encouraged to check and see if anything noteworthy had been stolen. In the end nothing was really missing, but with everything turned upside down the incident was still noteworthy. Splinter didn’t care about security advice or further investigation, he just wanted the officers to leave as soon as possible so he could collect everything he needed to pull the sons out of that drainage ditch.  
They did eventually leave with what Splinter hoped was enough information to make decent report, yet not enough information to spark any further investigation. He immediately shut the door behind them, collected a large cardboard box, and knotted two old sweaters together to use as a rope.

Over half an hour had passed by the time Splinter was back out into the hallway, making tracks for the alley. Given the fact that he had taken a moment to answer questions of police officers he was making pretty good time, but that didn’t change the fact that four preschoolers had been waiting for him for a full thirty eight minutes chest deep in cold filthy water. He could only hope none of them would get too terribly sick.  
  
“I’m back!”  
He returned to the mouth of the drain, kneeling down on the concrete as he called out to his sons.  
He was greeted with silence.  
Perturbed, but thinking they may not have heard him, Splinter tested homemade sweater rope with a sharp tug before lowering the end of it into the drain.  
“I’m sorry I took so long. Here, can you reach this?”  
Again he was greeted by silence. He felt no weight on the rope, heard no voices or movement, and his sense of dread intensified.  
  
“Boys?”  
He bent down to peer into the opening but saw nothing but darkness. Heart beating faster he called out again, but all that replied was the sound of rushing water. Splinter looked up and around just in case the turtles had found a way to escape on their own, hoping that they had simply gotten tired waiting for him and had gotten free by themselves… that they were hiding somewhere.  
“Leonardo! Donatello! Raphael! Michelangelo!” he shouted, no longer caring for subtlety, just wanting to know where his children disappeared to.  
Still nothing.  
Then there was a metallic scrape as Splinter’s foot brushed against something. Looking down he discovered an object next to his shoe that he hadn’t noticed before. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands.  
It was a switchblade. Not just any switchblade, but it was the same switchblade he had taken from Nezumi many hours earlier. But… he was _certain_ he had left it in the pocket of the coat he had tossed away while in the subway station.

There was a folded piece of paper bound to the handle with tape. Mind already piecing together what was going on but not wanting to believe it Splinter’s fingernails fidgeted manically to try and pry the note free.  
The paper was wet, ink smeared around the edges, but the words were still legible.

 

_Newport Warehouse_

_8:00 p.m Tomorrow_

_No cops. No guns. Bring the switchblade. Don’t be late._

 

He knew the Newport Warehouse. Despite having been abandoned decades ago it was a hotspot for illicit trade in New York. Beneath it was an incredible concrete cellar, which was often sectioned off and used as a fighting ring where thugs and mob bosses could battle within the bounds of their own set of morals and rules. Splinter had fought there before.  
Suddenly there was the sound of a car starting up behind him. Tearing his gaze from the note Splinter saw a vehicle parked a distance away. Staring back through the window of the front seat was the familiar face of The Hammer, sporting a fresh pair of new unbroken sunglasses. He wore a smug smile, signature gold nail hanging out of his mouth as he gave a wave; a mocking imitation of the wave Splinter had given him during his escape in the subway.

Splinter took off toward the car when the man stepped on the gas, but by then it was far too late. He made it to the curb just in time to hear the sound of tiny hands and feet pounding against the trunk until they were drowned out by the squealing of tires as the car disappeared at top speed down the street.  
Splinter could only chase after his sons for a few moments before the vehicle was utterly lost in the high speed traffic of New York's main roads.


	8. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The turtles join a stranger for brunch. Splinter does a bit of shopping.

It was close to midnight when Splinter lost sight of the car and his sons, the sweaty and wet note still crumpled in his fist as he stumbled back into his apartment.  
With the rain gone and an uneasy silence prevailing in the empty apartment he wandered aimlessly around his wrecked home, moving in circles through all the keepsakes and workbooks dumped heartlessly out onto the ground. Some desperate side of Splinter’s psyche insisted that this wasn’t truly happening, that the face in the window was a trick of the darkness and the pounding on the trunk was his imagination, this was all a dream… a nightmare… and in time the turtles would pop out of hiding like just like always.

His knuckles rapped on the wall.  
_Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits  
_ Any second now.   
_Shave-and-a-hair-cut two-bits. Shave-and-a-hair-cut…_  
Any second now they'd be stumbling out of the closet, out from under the bed, springing from the scattered debris.

_Shave-and-a-hair-cut two-bits. Shave-and-a-hair-cut two-bits. Shave-and-a-hair-cut two-bits.  
_ He was slumped on the floor, tears streaming down his face, his fist knocking a few more weak rhythms into the wall as a sob welled up within him and gnawed at his cracked ribs with teeth of needles and broken glass.

The next thing Splinter knew he was standing in front of a checkout counter at the nearest corner store. Two bottles, one of painkillers and one of scotch, sat in front of him. He didn’t meet the eyes of the woman at the register, his gaze fixed to his own bruised and filthy hands working desperately to free the bills and the change from the confines of his soaked clothes. Coins fell on the floor and sang like falling bullet shells, and somewhere between muttering an apology and wincing as he bent down to pick up the change the brown paper bag was gently placed in his arms. He was reassured that the 28 cents change wasn’t necessary, and muttering something that was meant to be a ‘thank you’ Splinter trudged back home.

He told himself that the alcohol was to help him sleep. He _needed_ to sleep, he needed to dull the pain beating relentlessly at his chest and get some rest.  
But mostly, if he was to be honest with himself, he needed to _forget_.  
He needed to forget how he had come so close to saving them just to fall short at the last second, that they were in arms reach only for him to drop his guard in the end. He had to forget that no matter what he did, what he said, the chances of his children getting out of this situation alive were horribly, _horribly_ low.  
He was going to lose his family all over again. His children were going to die, and it was all his fault.

The bottle was open and had almost made it to his lips when Splinter recalled nights only a few years ago, after the death of his first family and before the turtles came into his life. It didn’t take much to make him tipsy, and before he knew it he’d wake up hours later in the park with no recollection of how he got there or how much time had passed.  
The threat of somehow sleeping through the next thirteen hours only to wake after Visioso’s appointed time, drunk dizzy and incapacitated, was too real and visceral.  
In the end anxiety overcame desperation and the scotch was dumped down the kitchen sink, the painkillers taken with tap water.

He moved from the kitchen to the living area where he put away unearthed photos and toys, he wandered from the living area to the bed where sleep continued to elude him, then from the bed to the restroom where he came to the conclusion that a shower was probably the best idea. His clothes peeled off of him like the skin of a rotten fruit and the warm water washed the residue from his skin, revealing a constellation of purple and blue splotches along his arms and torso. He sat on the shower floor, forehead pressed against his knees, a fresh crying spell pricking at the large black spot in his chest that had born the brunt of the vehicle’s impact. The shed tears and the gentle patter of warm water gently lulled him into a few small spurts of restless sleep, until the hot water ran out and the downpour of cold water reminded Splinter far too much of the sensation of rain.

Climbing out of the shower, drying off and putting on some fresh clothes, his mind clung to the thought of rain.  
He didn’t like fighting, not like he used to when he was a boy, but reflecting on his battles in the downpour he considered old lessons from his father… lessons that had kept him hidden and safe for most of his journey.  
Standing in the middle of the living area he struck out at the air, envisioning the right pressure points, going over some of the more extensive lessons in his mind, the words of his father coaching him on the fastest methods of bringing a man down.  
It gave him a sense of comfort, a sense of control.

So he beat patterns into the surrounding darkness, rhythmic and precise, the burning ache of his shallow breaths slowly mellowing out as he delved deeper and deeper into focus, reserved kiais leaving his lips as he fought back massless phantoms until the sun rose, filling the apartment with a gentle golden light, and a strange sense that perhaps... just perhaps... things weren’t quite as hopeless as they appeared to be.

 

 

 

“I toldja we shouldn’t have climbed that rope!”  
“Will you shhh!”  
Raphael gave his elder brother a sharp shove in response to the fifth repeat of the same criticism he had heard since they were locked in the trunk of that car. They were all still muddy with grit and garbage, the long wait for their father having rendered them both cold and desperate, easily lured by the appearance of a way out despite the suspicious silence that had accompanied it. In the midst of the exchange of blame all four turtles huddled close together after being transferred from the trunk to a cage, desperate for both warmth and reassurance. Mikey had stopped openly sobbing only a few minutes ago, now only emitting small sniffles as their barred cell was placed on a food cart and draped over with a blanket.  
The turtles held each other close as they sensed the atmosphere take a dire turn as they were wheeled through a set of double doors, light Italian music and the smell of pasta filtering through the blanket blocking their view.  
  
Don Visioso looked up from his banquet, fat face curving into a smile as he saw The Fulci Twins pulling a cart right up next to his table.  
“Ah, so you brought me what I ordered?”  
“Four courses of The Splinter’s big secret, just as you asked”  
One of the twins gripped the blanket, yanking it away from the cage with a wide dramatic motion. Mikey and Donnie kept behind their two older siblings, who stared defiantly at the hideous overweight monster peering at them.

Don Visioso dropped his spoon into his soup and stared wide-eyed. His chair hovered just a few inches closer to the four trapped creatures, a look of disbelief marking his sluggish sunken features  
“Well I’ll be…”  
He reached out as if to touch them through the bars. Raphael bared his teeth, and the pudgy outstretched hand withdrew as Visioso thought better of it.

“You sure Takada will come for these… weird lil’ turtle freaks?”

“Hammer said the guy was talkin’ to em,’ that the look on ‘is face was priceless when he found out they’d been taken” one of the twins explained “Vinnie and Marco’s findings match up too, seems like he was housing em’ or somethin’… like… some sort of mutant children from the black lagoon’”  
While his brother talked the second twin delivered a pile of snapshots to Visioso’s table. The images of preschool-level homework and toys could’ve easily been explained away, but then The Don came to the images of child’s drawings and coloring books riddled with little crayon doodles of bipedal turtles that didn’t make much sense outside of context.

While Visioso examined the evidence with the twins peering over his shoulder, Michelangelo found his attentions drawn to something that pulled him out of his crying fit and suitably distracted him from the matter at hand: the dinner table.  
It was long past breakfast time, and the youngest had never seen that much food before in his life. Salivating as he caught scent of the seasoned meat, the tot pressed against the side of the cage and reached his tiny arms through the bars, straining to lay hold of one of the many platters of food... so close and yet so tantalizingly far from his reach.  
Leonardo felt the cage shift beneath him as the youngest pressed against it, and while Mikey saw the food Leonardo found his attentions drawn to a steak knife on the table just a short distance away.  
The padlock was firm, but the bars were fairly flimsy. He figured if they could just lay hold of that knife perhaps he could saw through and get to freedom.  
Leonardo nudged Raph and whispered his plan into the turtle’s ear. Raph nudged Donnie in turn and passed the plan along, and after they checked to ensure their captors were still distracted all four turtles began shifting to try and push the cage as close to the table as possible.

Unfortunately it was not a silent endeavor. Pulled from the discussion by the sound of squeaking metal hinges, Visioso looked up just in time to see the smallest of the turtles furiously ripping bits and pieces from a rotisserie chicken through the bars, the tallest of the four straining to reach past the food and take hold of a jagged knife.  
The twins were quick to act, plucking the cage away from the table just as Donatello’s fingertips brushed the silver handle only a few seconds short of getting a decent grip.  
“Clever lil monsters ain’t they?” their captor remarked, giving the cage a shake before slamming it back down on the food cart, which had now been pushed back a safe distance away from the table. Mikey scrambled to keep his hold on the greasy pieces of stolen chicken while Leonardo, in his frustration, leapt to the front of the bars in a confrontational manner.

“What do you want with us you big ugly jerk!?”

“Holy moly, it can talk too!” Visioso exclaimed, apparently far more taken aback by that simple fact than the audacity of the childish insult “Heh, Daiki teach ya’ how to do that?”

“He’s gonna kick your butt y’know!” Raph growled, ignoring the question in favor of making threats “So y’better let us go before Papa finds out!”

“‘Papa’ huh?”  
That was the final clue Visioso needed.  
He chuckled and snapped his fingers, gaining the attentions of the twins.  
“Send out word that The Splinter is comin’ in for one final round” He announced “Five hundred thousand cash in store for whoever beats ‘im. Purple Dragons, common thieves, assassins fer hire, _everybody_ gets a shot at this guy.”

“Half a million?” one of The Fulci Twins asked “… you sure boss? s’awful big purse for just one guy.”

“Call it repaying the universe fer’ it’s generosity” Visioso replied, his gaze shifting away from his goons to settle upon the caged children “Besides, I’m sure just one of those little freaks could go fer' at least that much on the black market. Sell two to a laboratory, sell the other two as exotic pets to some drug kingpin, we’ll make a killing!” 

Talk of being sold unsettled the children, for while Visioso’s manner of speaking was strange to them they could still tell what he was talking about. Donatello alone knew what the dictionary definition of a Kingpin was, but his brothers all instantly recognized the word ‘laboratory,’ as it had always been the looming boogieman that plagued every worst case scenario of what would happen should they leave the sanctity of the apartment. Frantic, they all began kicking against the bars in unison, shouting more demands for release and threats about what their dad was going to do once he came to their rescue. They received no answer, just one final smug glance before their shouts were faded by the blanket draped back over their cage and they were wheeled back out into the hallway.

 

 

 

 

Splinter couldn’t remember the last time he treated himself to something that wasn’t food or decent clothes, though to say that hand wraps and protective pads were a “treat” was inaccurate given the circumstances. He had come to the conclusion that the best way to pass the time was with self preparation… in both a mental and a physical sense… and now that hours of reflection and meditation had brought him past the brink of immobilizing panic gearing up seemed to be the next best thing to do.

He didn’t know what was waiting for him at the warehouse, but he knew that if it involved further combat then his ribs would be a notable weak point, and if there was one perk to being in New York it was that anything could be purchased immediately so long one knew where to look. A special armored vest guard designed for motorists could be hidden beneath a shirt and a coat, and as expensive as it was... money was not a concern at the moment.  
According to the note he was only to bring Nezumi’s switchblade, but with old remembered lessons came teachings on carrying concealed weapons, and in the end Splinter felt carrying a bit of extra artillery was worth the risk. He purchased a set of throwing knives at the same sports shop where he bought some hand wraps, then took a bus to the outskirts of his destination.

He sat in a diner near the docks just across the street from the Newport Warehouse, beneath a big heavy coat hiding wrapped hands, hidden blades, and chest armor. He waited for the clock to approach eight, the sun was starting to set over the horizon and he attempted to find some satisfaction in the first meal he'd had all day. The Diner had become surprisingly rowdy though, a number of unsettling looking men and women trickling in and filling the surrounding chairs, most of them ordering alcohol as if this was a biker bar rather than a small mom and pop joint.  
The waitress seemed used to it however, so Splinter kept his head down, kept his distance, listening in to their passing conversations as he waited calmly for the appointed time.


	9. Silver Lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter makes a short-lived acquaintance while the turtles remain stuck in a claustrophobic situation

Nineteen motorcycles were parked outside by the time seven twenty rolled around. The waitress had already taken care of Splinter’s emptied sandwich plate and tea mug and now he was just waiting, trying to ease himself into a state of calm despite the rambunctious shouting going on behind him. A few short-lived brawls had already knocked over a table and a set of dishes, followed up shortly by threats to call the cops from the venue owners. It did little to help, they all secretly knew they weren’t in any danger of police interference, not on this corner of the docks.

Of course, while trying to block out the noise Splinter considered his options aside from walking right into Visioso’s hands. The prospect of sneaking in earlier than expected to break the turtles out cycled around in his mind, but the thought was quickly disregarded. He'd have to pick the locks, and though lockpicking was one of the many skills drilled into him as a young boy this location was all too often often used by people who's skill sets involved breaking into homes and safe cracking. It had the outward appearance of an uninteresting concrete warehouse, but getting in unnoticed would be a risky mess.

That was as far as Splinter’s thoughts could go before the surrounding noise began to bleed into his stream of consciousness once again. Fed up he left the diner, figuring that if he was going to give this situation any more clear thought it would be away from the insanity.  
He stood in the parking lot, collecting as much breath as his lungs would permit without pain, trying to soak in the final golden glints of what he knew could very likely be his final sunset, when he picked up on another presence... shouts coming from the side of the building that sounded as though they were coming from a young kid. Splinter followed the noise out of curiosity, and he discovered an asian boy who couldn't have been much older than thirteen or fourteen practicing what appeared to be kung fu outside of the diner. His snap kicks were sharp, the boy was obviously working with at least minimal experience, but every time he came back down out a kick he seemed to wobble a bit.

 

“So long as you’re fighting alone, you may want to try and focus on accuracy rather than speed”

Splinter didn't know why he had said this. His children were in danger, the moment of truth was less than an hour away, and here he was giving unwarranted tips to a random stranger. However, the youth and veracity of the boy seemed uproot old emotions from his past, the determined glint in his eyes reminding him of a brother he once knew.

The kid stopped, turning to look at Splinter with an incredulous expression.  
"It is accurate!”   
His accent was distinctly Chinese. Likely an immigrant.

  
Splinter shook his head.  
"Your stance is off, it'll cause you stumble if you try it in a real fight"

The boy clenched his fists, teeth grit as he dashed forward, not even pausing to consider how small he was in comparison to this unwilling adversary. He threw a punch and Splinter caught it easily in the palm of his hand, a sharp tug and the sweep of his leg all it took before his opponent’s feet went out from under him and his back hit the ground 

“You looked like the protagonist of a kung fu movie, but just because you _look_ the part doesn’t mean it’s correct. If you feel unbalanced, then it’s more than likely wrong" Splinter continued.

The boy leapt back up to his feet, fists upraised. Before he could try again Splinter was behind him, and the teen instinctively braced himself in preparation of the blow, forearms shielding his vital areas from the inevitable impact. Much to his surprised, however, he found the older man adjusting his feet with soft nudges instead, broad hands squaring his shoulders and setting them in a position that brought all the power to his core.

“There. Now try again, and remember to not let yourself get stiff."  
Splinter rounded his way to the front of the boy and held his hand out with the inference that he wanted him to punch it a second time. The kid followed through, knuckles hitting the palm of a wrapped hand with such a force he felt like the bones should have cracked. Splinter didn't react, he just smiled and nodded.

"There, did you feel that? That’s the power of a good stance, it all begins at the core. Again."

The teen landed another blow against the palm, then another. He could feel the difference, and was secretly hoping to draw some pained reaction from the stranger. When that failed, and the elder man proved himself utterly unflinching, he withdrew, though he remained in the fighting stance in order to better retain it in his memory.

"Who are you?”  


Splinter paused and gave the back of his head a nervous rub before asking the young stranger for his own name in order to avoid the question. 

"They call me Hun. With a 'u,' like the warlord!"  
The boy struck out again, this time taking aim for the stomach rather than the outstretched palm. Splinter caught it all the same. 

Hun’s expression crinkled as he withdrew once more. He looked up at his opponent, eying him questioningly  
"Are you here to fight Daiki?"

"Are you?" Splinter echoed, again avoiding the question by asking his own. Luckily Hun was all too happy to answer.

"I wish."  
He let out a bitter laugh, making two more failed attempts to lay a strike upon Splinter "I'm not high up enough in the gang yet. All they let me do is deliver messages and tag alleys… clean and lock up after them... boring things."

"Lock up?"

"Yeah" Hun buried his stinging fists in his pockets, decidedly ending the futile fight early in order to save face "That's probably the only reason they brought me, to open doors for them like some stupid… doorman."

Splinter frowned, a thought coming to his mind at this new revelation  
"You open doors for them?”  
  
Hun shrugged.

"So, they gave you a set of keys to lock up with, correct?”

"Maybe" Hun shrugged again, looking off to the side "what's it to you?"

 

Splinter paused and considered this question. He looked around, briefly checking his surroundings for witnesses before his appearance took on a sudden unexpected meekness and he apologized.

"What for?” Hun asked.  
And that was when he noticed Splinter’s hand was upraised, fingers shifted into a knifehand position

“This” was his simple and somber response as he delivered a blow to a pressure point on the back of the boys neck, and for the second time in the past twenty four hours Hamato Yoshi found himself rummaging through the back pocket of an unconscious gang member in order to steal a set keys, only this time there was a far stronger pang of guilt that accompanied it.  
It was altogether possible for Hun to have not had the keys on him, or for his set to be the wrong ones, or for there to be some other misunderstanding that might have led Splinter to knocking out an unarmed teenager for no good reason. However, the fates had made a turn in Splinter's favor, and pulling ring from a pocket he found the tag “Newport Warehouse" attached to a large set of silver keys.

 

 

 

There were still a few minutes left by the time Splinter reached his destination. Finding the backdoor locked as he expected he began trying keys, and succeeded with his second guess.  
He was greeted with darkness, and though Hamato Yoshi was not yet sure if this was a good sign or a bad sign he didn’t sense any immediate threats. Thus with swift silent steps he made his way deeper into enemy territory, keeping his senses alert, trying to reckon with himself that this wasn’t as terrible of an idea as it felt to be.  
He wasn’t sure exactly where his kids would be held, but he knew where he had fought in the past, so he at least had a general sense of where Visioso might be intent on leading him. Still, the deeper he went, and the more the darkness persisted, the more uncertain and uncomfortable he felt.  
Eight was less than half an hour away and yet the place was so empty… so quiet. Too quiet.

 

_“Mikey, whad’s in your mouth?”_

  
  
Splinter was half way down the black stairwell on the outskirts of the fighting area, when he heard the mutter of distinct voice.

 

 _“It’s chik’n”_  
  
_“Stop eating you big dummy! We got to get a way out!”_

_“Th-they… they didn’t mean what they said a-abou’ selling us, did they?”_

_“And what about papa?”_

 

Splinter shot off in a sprint, feet tapping against the ground rather clumsily as he threw himself through the door, his mind barely registering how suspicious it was that the final barrier had been left unlocked.  
The room that greeted him was a familiar one, though the poorly lit emptiness made it feel so surreal, months worth of unpleasant memories padded by years of absence turning the old fighting ring into a strange warped echo of it’s former self. The inhabitants of the cage in the center of ring easily overcame the discomforting aura; four tiny tots squeezed together in an all too small cell, the youngest of them… for some reason Splinter didn’t want to think too hard about… gnawing on what appeared to be chicken. The frightened children froze when they saw their parent through the darkness, frightened, angry and tear stained expressions brightening in an instant.  
  
“Papa!”

Splinter flailed and put a finger to his lips. The turtles, realizing their mistake, did the same, though they couldn’t help but giggle a little as they did, a few happy greetings whispered through the empty corridor as their father ducked under the ropes and climbed into the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, about time huh?  
> Sorry for the long absence, but things have been busy on my end. The chapters may be a little shorter from here on out, but don't worry! I'm intent on seeing this one through :)


	10. The Game Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfriendly familiar faces find their way into a situation where they don't belong. The turtles learn to improvise.

None of the stolen keys looked like they would fit the lock. Splinter felt he should’ve expected that much, but luckily the cage was held shut with a simple padlock, which he knew he could easily undo with the pick he had the forethought to carry with him.  
He kneeled down and went to work, the trapped turtles rambling on about an ugly man and his weird friends. They asked questions of why and how, to all of which Splinter answered with requests for silence  
  
“I told you, I’ll explain later” he whispered, working to undo the cogs as quickly and efficiently as he could.

“They said they were going to sell us to a lab!” Donatello said  
“They’re pretty mad at you!” Leonardo interjected “They offered like… a billion dollars to who could beat you! Did you fight them? Are y’going to fight them?”  
“Fight bad guys?” Mikey asked, eyes turning starry with awe “this mean you’re a superhero Papa?”  
“No no. Just a normal hero” Raphael answered his younger sibling, nudging him with his elbow “Superheroes have to have super _powers_ dummy!”

“Look, will you please be quiet for a moment?” Splinter whispered back, tone far harsher than it had been before “If you’ll just stop asking questions and let me focus-”

Suddenly there was a click, but it didn’t emanate from a lock finally loosing it’s hold on the cage door, it was the click of a revolver from the outskirts of the ring behind Splinter. He froze, another flurry of clicks slowly surrounding him as barrels of guns peaked out of the shadows all around the fighting ring.  
Lights came on one by one, revealing the once empty space was now filled with men who’s weapons were fixed upon their one target in the center of the arena.  
Yoshi stood up and turned around, quick to realize his situation. In the back of his mind he’d had a bad sense about what he was walking into from the beginning, but his desperation had silenced his natural instincts.

There was a familiar crumb-clogged laugh. The obese form of Don Visioso sat just behind his line of hired gunmen, shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth as his lackey’s infiltrated the ring from all sides and apprehended their target.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Despite the brief disappearance of the doorboy, the warehouse was opened up from the inside by the time 8:15 rolled around, and the swarm of thugs entered with loud anticipation and heavy indecisive footsteps like a pack of feral dogs.  
The world within was dim as the air filled with a shallow layer of smoke that further obstructed the view of the audience. There were a few lamps illuminating the back where a makeshift bar sold watered down alcohol and overpriced cigarettes, but most of the group eventually found their way to the edges of the spotlighted ring, like they had been turned from excited wolves to wandering moths.   
Of course the light wasn’t the main attraction, but rather the man standing calmly and quietly within the ring, feigning confidence even while his wrists were fastened to one of the four corners by a set of handcuffs.

He didn’t bestow the group with any sort of response, though he was forced to move his head slightly to the side in order to dodge glass bottle that was thrown his way by a drunken attendee. To his luck there was enough sportsmanship in the unruly crowd to put a stop to that, and the convicted assailant was immediately ushered out in a flurry of shoves and blows, knocking him about until with a final toss from the bouncer he was sent stumbling to the ground outside of the warehouse.  
The doors were shut behind him, and he groggily rolled over onto his bruised stomach and tried to get to his feet.  
Somewhere in the midst of his dizzy efforts, a large and cold foot pressed him back into the dirt as someone- or _something_ \- walked over him.  
They were from a pair of newcomers, utterly unfamiliar in appearance, well dressed but off in their arrival time. The drunken outcast squinted through his haze, and noted that one of them held something shaped vaguely like a gun.

“Hey!”

The two suited men halted and turned around at the drunkard’s shout. Their faces were identical and the gun they held was strange and unearthly, looking more like the prop to an 80’s scifi film than a legitimate weapon.  
Seeing this, and taking in the unsettling oddities through his alcoholic fog, the outcast simply squinted and muttered something unintelligible about ‘no violence’ as he stumbled away. The suited men glanced at each other for a moment, and looked at their instrument.

“The Mutant Scanner brings us to the place that is known as this place” one said to the other

“Kraang, mutants are not to be pursued in the places known as the places that are filled with that which are known as ‘witnesses’” his partner replied

“Protocols do not forbid that which is known as a ‘brief examination’ of the mutant location”

“Kraang is correct in that assertion”

“Then let us proceed with caution.”

Thus, the gun was folded up, and the two monotone men went in.  
They hadn’t really any solid indication of what they were getting into, though they had done enough research on the subject of human behavior to recognize an underground fight when they saw one. The shackled captive standing in the spotlight raised no questions with them, as the object of their interest was not at all the fight itself.

They scanned the room slowly and methodically, trying to indicate their vague unidentified target, which was a good deal more difficult now that their machinery wasn’t allowed to be put into use. However they suspected they’d know their target when they saw it, and one of them was certain they spotted the mutant when they noticed a lighted balcony just off from the ring, wherein a hideous _thing_ sat between two armed men, shoving two ice-cream cones into his mouth at once. “Some mutated species of blob fish” was the Kraang’s guess, but his partner was quick to disagree. 

“Negative. That which is falsely labeled a ‘mutant’ is just what some humans look like”

The Kraang further examined the fat man, staring through it’s expressionless gaze until he could confirm his partner’s correction.  
"That is... that which is known as... unfortunate”

No sooner had they made their criticisms did the fat man called for the unruly room’s attention. The identical newcomers paid momentary attention to the announcement, hoping it would aide them in their search, but they quickly lost interest. They cared for neither the reputation of the captured human nor the offer of money to whoever could succeed in beating him, all they wanted was the mutant their tracker had picked up on.  
Then something new caught their attentions: a the small glint of something hanging from the rafters high above.  
They both stared, their mechanical eyes zooming in on the darkened ceiling until through the shadows they saw the outline of a cage, and a tiny pair of green eyes looking down at them.

 

 

 

“Raph they’ll see you!” Leonardo scolded, pulling his brother back from the edge of the bars. Raph returned this tug with a sharp shove that caused their cage to sway.  
  
“I wanna see Dad fight!”

“Don’t worry Leo” Don muttered from his end of the cage, where he prodded his tiny finger into the padlock, working his brain to try and figure out his father’s progress in undoing it “it’s dark up here. If we get out of the cage now, we can prob’ly sneak down without being seen!”

“An’ fight the guys fightin’ Dad!” Raph added, going right back to watching what was going on below. By now things were finally getting exciting. The cuffs holding Yoshi in place had been undone, leaving him free to combat the first opponents climbing up over the ropes and into the ring.  
  
Leonardo wisely gave up on dragging his brother away, afraid of shaking the cage again, their perilous position up in the rafters only adding to his instinctive caution.  
“How do we get down once the cage is open?”   
  
“I dunno…” Donatello replied, jostling the door testily “but maybe we can be sneaky and get it unlocked first?”

“M‘kay. How do we get the door unlocked though?”

“I dunno!” Don suddenly snapped, his broken focus causing him to loose patience “Dad used a lock pick, but the bad guys took it!”

Leonardo narrowed his brow, frustration and fear tempting him to cry. Just old enough to have a sense of pride, he instead decided examine each of his brothers to see if any of _them_ needed comforting. Raph was still trying to catch a glance at his fighting father, Donatello struggling to figure out how to undo the padlock, while Mikey… who had been oddly silent this whole time… continued gnawing on the thoroughly cleaned chicken bone as he tried to catch a peak of the pandemonium from over Raphael’s shoulder. With a frustrated humph Leo yanked the bone from his youngest brother’s mouth, and was about to throw it through the bars when he paused in realization.  
He looked the slobbery bone over, finding that without the sinews and the meat clinging to it it looked thin and pointy, like a caveman tool.

 

A spark of hope alighted in his tiny chest, and he hurried to Donatello and held it out  
“Will this work?”  
Donnie turned and looked at the bone his brother held. He appeared skeptical, but he took the object with a sigh and a nod before he  wriggled the end of the bone into the padlock, trying to see what gears he could configure with his measly tool.

 

 

 

 

Hamato Yoshi had walked right into a trap, and he was still trying to determine how much of that was bad luck or just his own stupidity. However, as was the pattern, the terrible twist of fate was peppered through with small instances of good luck, just enough to keep his hopes alive.

The throwing blades Yoshi had hid on his person were overlooked when he was frisked, the knives small enough to evade the searching fingers of those more accustomed to unveiling hidden revolvers. He had also convinced Don Visioso to allow him the keep the chest armor after informing him of his unfortunate collision with the car. He argued that if he went down too quickly it would make for a terrible show, as well as create bad press given the value placed on his defeat. Visioso, thankfully overconfident, fulfilled his simple request, but only after testing Splinter’s claim with a commanded strike to the ribs, causing him to buckle in pain before the gunmen took hold of him once more and dragged him into his restrains.  
There was undoubtably a feeling of indignity when Splinter was locked into the handcuffs, but it paled in comparison to the sinking helplessness he felt when the turtles were taken away once again, lifted high into the rooftops where their cage shackled to the rafters.

So here he was, his children dangling thirty feet above him, weaponized goons positioned all around to ensure he didn’t pull another stunt, the fat man himself sitting at a safe distance away, stuffing his face as he watched his captive fight for his kids like this was some sort of cheap gameshow.

But Yoshi still drew breath, and the turtles were still in his sights, thus… though the situation was bleak… there was still a chance of the situation _somehow_ turning out okay in the end.

 

So he fought with all his might, forbidding his lack of sleep and the pressing injuries to impair him. He wasn’t sure if he was fighting just as well as he ever had, or better than ever due to the situation, but the audience sure seemed to grow more and more excited with every blow he delivered and ever fighter he cut down.  
He was determined to not allow himself to get distracted, but he could only follow through only to a certain extent. There was one moment in the middle of the fifth round when he saw something that nearly placed him on the receiving end to a solid blow to the temple  
There was a man climbing the walls. No... _two men_... one on each side of the room.  
They were mostly hidden in darkness but he could see them, spider-like as the scaled the vertical wall, well dressed, identical, and utterly unnerving, especially given the fact that they seemed to be heading straight for the rafters.  
Or, more specifically, the cage dangling from the rafters far overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual it's late, but as usual I am filled with determination seeing as I have zero intention of abandoning this story.  
> But on an unrelated note, 100 kudos!?!? Seriously I was not expecting that, especially since this is such a small fandom, so thanks a bunch! you're all awesome!


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